


THE THINGS WE DONT DELETE

by MaryLouLeach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bromance, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid John, Kid Moriarty, Kid Sebastian, Kid Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 81
Words: 137,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLouLeach/pseuds/MaryLouLeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU fic. I know it's been done before but i wanted to try it out. Here's a look at Sherlock and John's relationship if they had met as kids and the trials they faced on the way to becoming the men they are today. After a falling out Sherlock pushed John out of his life but now John would need him more than ever. Sherlock hopes it's just not too late. Sorry no slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. MISINFORMATION

**CHAPTER 1. MISINFORMATION**

"Sir." Mycroft didn't look up at his PA, he only motioned for her to come in, he was finishing a call with another Prime Minister seeking advice on a certain media storm in the making. His PA continued to answer and sort incoming text messages by priority, forwarding what was needed and approving requests on others. She didn't have to look up to know her boss had just concluded his phone call, remaining expressionless she quickly handed the boss a large manila envelope marked confidential in large red letters across the middle.

Her impassive face gave nothing away as to why she had interrupted him, well at least to an ordinary observer it wouldn't, but Mycroft Holmes was far from ordinary. He'd already run a quick eye over her, deducing her meal, her mood, whether or not she had plans for the night and he knew she wasn't happy to deliver this envelope.

"Sir, I apologize for the delay in obtaining this communication. It seems Brant didn't consider it top priority. He's been sitting on this for two weeks." Mycroft held the report now but it was the picture that seized his attention, a service picture of a familiar blond haired man, several other pictures of bodies under a tarp, dead bodies, more photographs taken showing several medical teams running to aid those injured, fires burning all around, rolled over Humvees and military vehicles.

Mycroft Holmes, known for his usually cool and unfeeling demeanor had seen many photos far more gruesome, it was a surprise to even himself that a quick glance at these caused his stomach to knot. He inspected the photos of destructive bomb blasts and mortar fire, knowing that one of those dead bodies was an acquaintance. Could he say acquaintance? How impersonal no John was more than that, he was a friend to the younger Holmes brother, he was more than an acquaintance but Mycroft didn't have a word for it.

Scanning the unrecognizable corpses he wished he could pin point, which was the shorter man, how long had it been since they'd last seen him? He knew that Sherlock had refused all contact with the man, and Mycroft had been preoccupied with this _**Woman**_ causing scandals among some powerful European politicians. As well as the very illusive Moriarty, a psychopathic Irishman that was vying for Mycroft's attention like a spoiled child would a parent, these things kept him from thinking about the younger man. Guilt was a sour emotion, one that bubbled and churned like heartburn after a spicy late night snack.

Mycroft had reports on the military doctor sent to his office, nothing too interesting over the years. Although he didn't care for the Doctor's obsession with being at the front lines, and the several close calls had the Government official almost ready to put in a request and have the Doctor moved to an army hospital further from the conflict. Now, it seemed it was too late, the report had been written hastily, and all details still unknown.

What they did know was, Captain John Hamish Watson was shot and injured in a firefight, one of his men a Private Josh Henry Wilson rushed out to pull him clear only to be hit with a high powered military sniper riffle. The bullet tore through Private Wilson's shoulder and into the Doctors heart. Field Medic William Murry ran out and pulled Wilson clear but it was to late for the Captain. The medical transports were unable to get to the injured men due to heavy enemy fire, and that was all Mycroft needed to know at this point.

"This report is incomplete, I want an update."

"Yes sir, right away."

"Where is my brother?"

"He is currently in the Morgue at St. Barts sir."

"Have the car ready. And about Brant-"

"Already handled sir, he's been reassigned to a security detail, her Majesty was very much excited that such an avid dog lover was to take care of her precious Corgis."

"Very good."

Mycroft reread the report sitting in silence of the black government car his assistant continued to fire off texts, if she noticed the pinched expression on her bosses face she didn't show any hint.

" _Answer your phone. You do know how I loathe texting."-MH_

" _I am busy."-SH_

Mycroft had tried calling again this time it went strait to voice mail. He needed to handle this; he'd rather meet his brother at his tiny flat on Baker street. Mycroft was still astonished that Sherlock had managed to find someone to rent to him while he practiced as a private detective. A little Hobby the government man had hopped his brother would already work out of his system, but no such luck. Still Sherlock Holmes managed to attract interesting clientele, and his land lady had been one of his first. Mycroft always wondered about the sudden attachment the older woman formed with the sociopathic detective.

How his brother put up with the motherly Mrs. Hudson was beyond him, but she had rented a small basement room to his brother, so maybe it was just one of his manipulation tactics that so many fell for. Mycroft was in the process of releasing the freeze on his little brothers trust fund, seeing how he'd managed to be clean now for almost five years. But this news could changed that, it could bring Sherlock's sobriety crashing down, for this he debated on keeping it from his brother. Knowing if and when Sherlock found out that there would be no mending of their already near demolished relationship.


	2. PICTURES

**CHAPTER 2. PICTURES**

Sherlock glared at his mobile, powering it down. Mycroft and his pathetic attempts to get him to work as a government minion was getting irritating.

"Coffee?" Molly's voice cracked a little and as usual Sherlock paid no mind, his eye was still going over the slides. "Alright then I'm off to lunch. Do you-"

"Molly, shut up."

"Alright. Bye-" he ignored the sound of her shuffling feet, and disappointed sigh. However he couldn't ignore the sound of an umbrella tapping on the sterile white tiled floor.

"Mycroft I see the diet isn't working."

Sherlock refused to look over at his brother who out of the corner of his eye he could see standing with an annoyed expression, amusing how easy it was to irritate the government man. Mycroft remained where he stood for a moment, as if contemplating what action to take next.

"Well on with it. I haven't the time to entertain you and your irrational notion of importance in relation to the rest of us commoners." Sherlock's biting voice echoed off the empty morgues metal walls."

"Sherlock when is the last time you spoke with John?"

"John?"

"Yes, your friend John Watson."

"I don't have friends Mycroft. You've seen to that." The younger Holmes brother refused to look up from his microscope, the sneer in his voice still very affective.

" _ **Sherlock answer.**_ The question." Mycroft had started to yell but dropped his voice down at the last part of the demand, reigning in his temper. No matter how much restraint he promised himself he would have, Sherlock always managed to get under his skin.

"I haven't spoken to him in years." an irritable sigh.

"What of the letters and emails he sends." Mycroft knew he was pushing his brother, but he needed to know, needed to gage the degree of emotional distress his brother would experience. Needed to be sure this wasnt going to push his fragile sobriety.

"Well I'm surprised you don't already know the answer to that. The letters you forward to me, I'm sure you've read them. I know I haven't they go straight in the bin, as far as the emails I delete them. I have no urge to hear the pathetic drabbles of an army Doctor and his mundane activities. I'm busy. And like I said. I don't have friends. Why so concerned brother? Is the good Doctor back in London on leave-"

"He will be." Mycroft leaned back on the balls of his feet, his black umbrella held behind his back.

"It's of no matter to me." Sherlock scratched notes onto the paper at his side, refocusing the microscope. "Go on then don't you have a parade or some kind of homecoming planned? Have you been in contact with the good Doctor your best friend? If so don't bother asking me to show up."

"No brother. I haven't spoken to your-to John. We arent in contact. And anyway it would not be a homecoming-"

"Mycroft what do you want? I'm in the middle of a case. I have no urge to carry on this ridiculous conversation about an old childhood acquaintance. One of _**no**_ significance to the case I'm currently working to solve if you would leave me to it. As much as I love these heart to hearts-"

"A funeral."Mycroft's voice was casual as if reporting the weather.

Sherlock froze, his brothers words registered immediately but something in him did not want to process them. Whose funeral? Who was he talking about? What did his brother want now? John-John was coming home. No, not a homecoming, a funeral. He put his brothers words together uninterrupted and turned finally, running a doubtful eye over the man in the tan suite, his weight resting on the umbrella at his side.

_Face, tense, bad news, shoulders stiff, something that will possibly upset him-no me, hands holding his umbrella and the other hand clutching an envelope. John's dead, John H. Watson. What had I said to him? What had my last parting words been? And the emails, I stubbornly refused to open. Except the last one, I opened the last one.  
_

"John is dead." Sherlock's voice cold, and even. Why did his mouth feel dry, and was he getting sick his throat had an uncomfortable lump?

"Shot in the line of duty."

"You're lying." Sherlock growled.

"This is what I have so far." Mycroft offered in surrender.

Sherlock snatched the envelope from his brother, nearly tearing it open. "This is dated two days ago." the younger Holmes growled laying everything out on the long metal table in front of him. He scanned the pictures, read the report. One of those burned bodies was John's. John had been shot, and someone had gone out to help him only to be shot themselves. They left John's body, they left it behind and the enemy bombed the area, he was left there, they left him.

"He was already dead Sherlock. They did what their training called for. The body would have slowed their retreat." Sherlock didn't reply, he pushed the pictures away from him in disgust. Mechanically grabbing his coat and scarf walking out of the morgue without so much a word to his brother.

Mycroft frowned now, collecting the confidential contents of the folder, noticing the small service picture wasn't among the cluttered photographs and report.

Sherlock couldn't think, couldn't breath, his feet carried him where he didn't know, didn't care. Distance he needed distance, six stop lights, five women, eight children sixteen men, he'd passed and counted. The air was cold on his cheeks, cold, it was cold of course wasn't it early spring? Think of anything, anything but John. John in the park, John disappointed, John laughing-crying, angry, more disappointment.

After walking around for several hours, Sherlock realized his phone had been shut off, Lestrade would be calling to know about the case. The case-what case? John is dead. That's all his brain was screaming out, John, the only person who no matter what Sherlock said or did never gave up on him. Now he's gone, and Sherlock could deduce the pain  the soldiers fatal injury. The trauma to a beating heart, the pain would be intense, but short it would be quick. The soldier would have died swiftly, more likely shock from the force of the bullet, hadn't even registered in the dieing man. Blood would have flooded the many valves and chambers of the injured organ he would have ceased breathing immediately. The science of it was comforting but it didn't stop another part of his mind from questioning it all.

Did he yell out in shock, did he even have time to think anything but _God, let me live?_

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson opened the door of 221, "Come inside young man you don't have a coat on! Why are you carrying your coat and not wearing it, you're nearly frozen." She chided "I'll make you a nice hot cuppa."

Sherlock was placing all these feeling in the room of his mind palace, the one labeled John, John had his own room, his own room and Sherlock hadn't dared open that door, he'd thought he locked the memory of John away, deleted everything about the blond soldier. Obviously his mind had yet to delete the other man, he wished again that people were easier to delete like emails or voice mail messages.

**"** Emails." Sherlock murmured holding the service picture of John. Emails, he needed to see them.


	3. BULLETS and REGRETS

**CHAPTER 3. BULLETS and REGRETS**

Sherlock hurried down the hall towards the basement ignoring Mrs. Hudson's offer of coffee, the elderly landlady flinched at the loud bang from the slamming of her tenets door. "That boy. I'll never understand him."

Sherlock opened his laptop, impatiently awaiting the chimes signalling start up and he exhaled, moving his hands over the keyboard. Why hadn't he deleted those emails? He'd saved them, and couldn't ever understand the reasoning behind this odd behavior. Sherlock looked over the dates received. He last received an email from John three years ago. Three years ago, it was the last email John had written him and no more letters followed either. Sherlock recalled the curiosity he had that year when he realized John hadn't sent him anything.

It had been routine for Sherlock to check his inbox weekly and find an email from John, Sherlock wouldn't delete it he only moved it over to a folder he labeled JW. But it had been a month and still no new email, curiosity hit him then. He wasn't lying when he told Mycroft that he hadn't spoken to John in five years, he hadn't. But this last email sent from his ex friend, Sherlock had opened as he was doing now. Recalling the horror on discovering his friend-no ex friend's new career choice.

_Sherlock,_

_My father used to tell me; BULLETS are like regrets they tear through you, and if you're lucky enough they'll leave just a scar. A painful reminder of what to do or not do next time. Maybe even kill you quick. But if you're unlucky they kill you slow. Goodbye Sherlock. I'm sorry, sorry that I made you regret your choice in becoming my friend. –John H. Watson_

Sherlock read over the words over and over again, this email had been sent three years ago. Sherlock had gone straight to Mycroft three years ago once he noticed just where the email had been sent from. The ip address was from a military base, it didnt take a genius to deduce what John was doing on a medical training base.

Sherlock pushed the memory of that encounter down, odd this feeling in his stomach, as if he'd swallowed a rock and it weighed him down heavily. He carefully saved the email once again and decided to read through the unopened ones, the first dated two years before the last one.

_Sherlock,_

_I can guess you're still not talking to me. Well I am not giving up, I only hope this email address is still current. I just wanted to drop a line. I'll be leaving for boot camp in the morning. I can't really sleep and Harry refuses to speak to me. After Dad's funeral she went on another bender, by the time I found her it was nearly time for me to leave. She thinks I'll go away and come back like our father. Never mind that this will help me pay for school and when I'm done here I'll be a doctor. My father was only a soldier and when he was injured he came home with a tremor and a drinking problem. He didn't have a career just a dead wife and two kids. I think I'll be alright, seeing how I wont be just defined as army, but a Doctor as well. Well I better get some sleep. Hope you aren't giving the rehab staff too much difficulty.-Your friend John Watson._

_Sherlock,_

_So I made it through the first couple of weeks of boot camp. I thought I was in good shape, but oh how I was mistaken. The first night every muscle I had was sore even my hair hurt. It's short now, I can get used to it, it's not much shorter than I already kept it. Some of the other guys had a hard time making that change. It's not so bad, lots of new mates to joke around with. RAMC isn't so tough. Lots of tests and the instructors are very strict but it's never a dull moment. I hear London is rainy, when will you get privileges for phone calls? Or emails? Well it's lights out soon.-Your friend John Watson_

_  
_With surprisingly steady hands Sherlock randomly chose another email of a later date.

_Sherlock,_

_It's morning here and I can see the desert from my tent. Sometimes while on patrol when they have us crouched down in a ditch waiting for the ok to push on, I'll examine the sand and think of you. The sand isn't like the soft sand of the beaches back home, it's grainy, heavy and a deep orange almost red. I bet you would love a sample for an experiment. Remember that one summer your mum took us to Porthchapel Beach in Cornwall. You spent the day collecting shells. You told everyone it was for an experiment on molluscs, but we both know it was so you could use them as buried treasure. The sand remember it being so warm on our  bare feet, the ocean rolling in and out calmly, peppered with surfers and swimmers. Well anyway, I hope you are staying sober and you're remembering to eat. Well it's lights out. I'll write again soon.- Your friend John._

_Sherlock,_

_Its been a few weeks, it'll be Christmas soon wont it. So I don't forget Merry Christmas. I still haven't heard from Harry. I think Clara has left her. I thought for sure this time she was done with the drinking. I do miss the decorative lights around London this time of year. Yesterday was a bit of a challenge but Bill is pretty good to have around. We fixed this kid up in the middle of a gunfight. I hadn't even realized we were being shot at till after. On days like this, where the wounded keep coming in and the medical transports are delayed by enemy fire, when you are trying to buy the young soldier with the leg wound time, just a little longer five minutes an hour, till the transport can air lift them to the hospital. I think of home, and remind myself it's still there. Sometimes the medical transports or the supplies don't show up for days. I'm back from patrol. And days like this I miss London more than ever, the cool air, the sounds of cabs and traffic, the bustle of people headed to or from work, street performers playing music on the corners. It's just desert and death sometimes, and this place is so hot that the sand soaks up the blood, maybe that's why the sand is so red. I have to be off, they wont tell me where we are going next but it can't be worse than the last place. Give Mycroft hell for me.- Your friend John Watson_

_Sherlock,_

_I know I haven't emailed in a bit. Things are getting a little intense, a couple weeks ago a suicide bomber came on base driving a delivery truck it was carrying food and one minute soldiers are helping unload the next there are body parts everywhere. Our communications were down for a couple days, and they had a blackout on outgoing mail, calls and of course the internet. It only lifted just today. I imagine you are sitting around the science lab dissecting some poor creature like the chemistry teacher or the kid stupid enough to sit next to you in class. I haven't heard from you yet, but I'm not giving up. Life's to short you know. Anyway I lost a few good friends a couple weeks ago. One minute you're laughing and sharing a joke the next you're helping gather their scattered limbs into body bags to be shipped home. What a mess everything is. I'll have leave in a month, and I'm going to track you down because you can't stay mad at me forever. I'll see you laters then. Hope you had a wonderful new year. –Your friend John Watson._

Sherlock froze reading that, and checking the date, around that time he was in rehab, having no access to his email. Surely John could have come to visit? Not that the detoxing addict would have agreed to see the soldier. Did he try? What stopped him? Sherlock thought back, remembering Mycroft around the time had came in to speak to him. And Sherlock had been furious at his brothers demands and ultimatums. The fat bastard had told him he'd seized Sherlock's trust, and would have all control of his money and inheritance. After that meeting Sherlock refused all visitors, not wishing to speak to anyone while he was caged. The faculty probably turned John away.

The dark haired detective winced at the image of a soldier in dress uniform coming to visit and being denied entry. Assuming that Sherlock wanted nothing to do with his ex friend. Sherlock wondered if John had been hurt or just annoyed. He decided to keep reading scanning the emails randomly choosing another date.

_Sherlock,_

_I'm going on patrol again. Last one was a bit extreme, we were held up in some abandoned shell of a building in a near deserted town trading fire with a group of insurgents. Have you been freed yet? Maybe you've managed to get a small flat. Look Sherlock this is ridiculous. Life is to short to hold a grudge this long. I'm sorry for everything. If you would let me explain. This whole mess is just a terrible misunderstanding. I just want you to know that I still consider you my friend. I always will consider you my friend. Nothing changes that Sherlock. It hurts that you would think my character so lacking that I would use your families influence use you for a foot up in the world. Please. I'm sure if you speak to Mycroft he would tell you. If you wont believe me. Well, anyway I hope to hear from you soon. You stubborn bastard.- Your friend John Watson_

_Sherlock,_

_Today was just another day in the life of Lt. John Watson. The wounded have been coming in waves. An assortment of wounds and burns. Sometimes there is nothing I can do but hold their hands while they wait for the pain meds to take affect, but even then it hardly takes the edge off. Today one of the RAMC Doctor's came in on a stretcher. Poor sod had a piece of shrapnel about four inches thick protruding from his chest, and blast burns on his side. He came to us too late to help, and the sad thing is he knew it. Looking into his bloodshot eyes you could see he knew it, and he died while I tried to remove the shrapnel, died. They've lost a nurse as well, my mate William Murry, well Bill Murry is a nurse and has put in for a transfer to fill in the holes left by the squad losing a nurse. I think I'm going to request to take the place of their Doctor. They'll need someone who can act on their feet. It's chaos out there and I am under no illusions I know that it's not going to be a walk in the park. But I want to help and I think I could be useful. Harry has refused to talk to me, she thinks I should just stay where I am away from the conflict. I cant stay behind and let others risk their lives in my place. Well I should be going it's lights out. How's school? Have you pulled any new pranks on your brother?- Your friend John._

_Sherlock,_

_I put in for reassignment they gave it to me. I'll be going with the new squad tomorrow. I'm a little nervous to tell you the truth. But I know I can be helpful, I just know it. Hey, remember when we stole Mycroft's controller for that damned model airplane of his. You changed it so when he wanted to go up it would dive down and left would be right. I'm not sorry. I wish I'd have let you superglue his umbrella to his hand. Well I travel with the new squad tomorrow. Bill has already been with them two weeks now. I haven't heard from Harry, when I was on leave she mentioned she was engaged to her girlfriend Clara. Well lights out soon. I don't know when I'll be able to email again. I hope you are well and remembering to eat.- Your friend John._

This was the second to the last of John's emails. What had changed John's mind, what made him send the final one. Who? Had something happened that convinced him to give in? Sherlock's silence couldn't be the only factor. He needed to know what he was missing wanted more data, just to better understand his friend's thoughts. Had he died angered at all those who abandoned him? He couldn't read anymore, it was all too much, too much, he could hear John's voice in each letter, the smooth calm tone, the deep voice with a hint of humor. His eyes always bright and warm as if he was about to tell you a funny joke, or you'd done something amusing. Patience that was John Watson, patient and easy going, brave and loyal. And Sherlock had only thrown that at him, pushed the man away because he reminded Sherlock of everything he couldn't be, John never said anything about Sherlock's struggle with sobriety he'd only ever tried to help. And Sherlock hated every time relapsing and see that disappointment in those trusting blue eyes.

Movement from the door way just out of the corner of Sherlock's eye brought him out of his tumbling thoughts.

"Don't hover Mycroft, what is it now? Come to gloat?" Sherlock closed the email's file window snapping his laptop shut. He wondered how long Mycroft had been standing there. Sherlock scowled at his older brother, but something in his brother's posture set him on edge, delaying any other bitter remarks.

"He's not dead." Mycroft clutched his expensive black umbrella like a cane.


	4. COMFORT

**CHAPTER 4. COMFORT**

Intense pain, that's what greeted John, intense pain and blinding lights. He couldn't remember where he was, or how he got there but he knew he didn't like it. He was cold so damn cold, someone a woman in a lab coat frowned looking at a medical chart she put a syringe to the IV to his right.

A hospital then, god, his shoulder burned, everything pained him. He wanted to ask something but couldn't think of anything to say. The soldier felt like a fish out of water, his mouth dry, cracked lips moving but no sound escaping.

This wasnt the desert, but he was just in the desert. Trying to breathe in but something constricted his chest, and it burned it burned to breathe, his throat felt so dry he wanted to call for water, wanted to sit up but he felt so heavy. Someone was talking to him, he tried to concentrate on the voices. To sort them, who was he? John H. Watson, captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Yes, he had gone out on patrol-maybe? Was this hell? It was cold, so very cold, his throat dry, water, he wondered where his canteen had gone to. Someone must have read his mind because a straw was pressed to his chapped lips.

A dark haired man stood now at his side, a frown on his pale face, those gray eyes piercing and John thought he knew him, but couldn't quite place it.

"John?" Sherlock watched John's sky blue eyes open slowly, trying to focus, the dark haired detective moved towards the hospital cot, resisting the urge to touch his friend to place a reassuring hand on his arm or even take the injured soldiers callused hands and squeeze. Something that John had done when their roles had been reversed. Sherlock desperately kept his eyes on his injured friend, sky blue eyes, glassy, wild unfocused. 

Sherlock settled for holding a straw for John to drink greedily from, one of the nurses an irritatingly dull woman had instructed him that the oxygen flowing through the tubes would dry out the injured soldiers throat and mouth, he would be thirsty, water or ice chips could sooth the discomfort.

"Slowly." Sherlock soothed with a surprised gentleness that even he hadn't known he possessed.

A quick observation told Sherlock his friend had aged over the past five years. More lines to his face and around his eyes, he looked thin now, a sickly green under the hallows beneath the glassy eyes.

John wanted so very badly to ask where he was, and how he got there. The gray eyes staring intensely into his own suddenly heavy lidded ones.  The unusual eyes seemed intelligent, was he another doctor a surgeon? No. There was something else, something John was forgetting.

The nurse came in again interrupting John's muddled thoughts, and John wanted to tell her not to dose him again, the pain was acceptable, it reminded him he was alive. Desperately wanting the haze to lift, wanted to tell those gray eyes he was alright and if he'd just stop looking as if John kicked his puppy or sprouted fangs and horns he'd appreciate it.

"No." John managed but it came out as a pitiful groan. The nurse didn't even turn his way, instead she continued to change his IV bag, a syringe ready in her other hand. John needed to speak, he turned his head the pain from this action made the world spin briefly but he pushed past it, blue eyes searching for the gray. "No" he pleaded, his body to heavy, he could only turn his head back to the woman with the syringe, now injecting the morphine into his IV . His last somewhat coherent thoughts remained on the gray eyes, the ones he tried to make his wishes understood to, failing of course, but still the familiar stranger looked hurt, and sad but why?

"No." Sherlock heard the injured soldiers plea,  John tried to turn away, to look at the nurse pleadingly. Clearly rejecting Sherlock, even in this drug addled state, with a high fever raging his ex friend recognized the detective and refused the offered comfort. Then the drugs caused the bruised eye lids to flutter closed and the feverish John Watson drifted back into a deep dreamless sleep. Sherlock clutched the safety bar of John's bed, the rejection made him feel an emotion he thought he could delete, or rather thought he had deleted. Rejection. What had he expected, why would John accept comfort from the man that caused this? It was acceptable to be angry. Justified.


	5. FAMILY

**Chapter 5. FAMILY**

Mycroft Holmes was a man of patience, although he had little patience for error, idiots, and miscommunication. He already fired several people today, and it looked like he would be demoting another three. Mycroft Holmes did not suffer fools. Standing in the hall of Queen Elizabeth Hospital he was speaking sharply into his mobile.

It seemed that it hadn't been a Captain John H. Watson that was shot and killed, it was a Josh H. Wilson and John H. Watson had been injured trying to pull the younger soldier to safety a sniper caught him through the shoulder, the bullet tore through muscle and nerves and into the heart of the young man the Doctor was trying to help. He was stabilized at the nearest army hospital and then shipped home. Captain Watson was there  three days, three days the same day Mycroft had learned of the doctor's supposed "death" only to be informed hours later the young Captain was in fact, alive.

When he told his brother, Sherlock hadn't thrown his usual tantrums, just grabbed his coat and scarf following Mycroft to the awaiting car.

Upon arrival both brothers learned of the young Doctors condition, he had nerve damage they wouldn't know the extent until he woke up, he lost a lot of blood and went into hypovolemic shock. After several blood transfusions he was battling a fever due to infection. The doctors weren't to optimistic; the strain on the army doctor's heart may be too taxing. How cruel to learn John was alive only to discover he may just not survive the night. Both Holmes brothers remained in the hospital awaiting news and any little update. 

_**~0~** _

"Why are you here?" Harry stormed in, Sherlock looked over the blond woman, she had the same color of sky blue eyes that John did, but cold, bloodshot and angry. John's eyes had always been warm and patient; the sister was a few inches taller than John but nowhere near Sherlock or Mycroft's height. She too aged over the last five years, her lifestyle probably contributing to that. Sherlock had never liked Harry but for John he always tried to be civil, today was no exception.

Still, the younger Holmes brother couldn't explain why Harry's sudden arrival, angered him. Perhaps it was the sour reek of the pub, cigarette smoke and liquor. Sherlock deduced easily  it had been a few hours between drinks for the older Watson, her face was showing the strain and her hands had a faint tremor.

"Please Miss. Watson, this is a hospital." The nurse looked nervously towards Mycroft and then Sherlock.

"They aren't family I want them gone." The thin blond woman scowled pointing a trembling finger in the direction of Sherlock and his brother.

"Miss Watson, Mr. Holmes has been very generous with your brothers-"

"Oh. I see. So you are trying to satisfy your own guilt. Well where the hell were you lot when he was signing his life away? Did you see that this injury will prevent his continuing as an army doctor even as a surgeon? What a wonderful thank you from the government." She pulled her arm free of the nurses gently hold. "I wont be calmed." She fumed "He has nothing. You saw to that. I told him, I warned him that getting involved with you lot was dangerous. I was just thinking for his heart. He's not like us, the rest of the world. He thinks people are worth saving. " She looked back to the hospital bed, tubes and monitors and bandages, he looked so small and broken. This was too much, but she'd be sure that when he woke up these two weren't around. She'd try to help, as much as she could, he wouldn't blame her or them, always known that John couldn't hold a grudge longer than a minute. But she sure as hell could and she would for the both of them.

"Perhaps we should leave Miss. Watson with her brother for a few minutes." Mycroft sighed looking at his own brother who stood still as stone, his eyes on the unconscious ex soldier. Mycroft wondered if the woman's harsh words had penetrated his brothers many defenses. "Go." She growled moving over to the occupied hospital cot. "Please Just go both of you. Can't you understand how much it will kill him seeing you two?" It was a plea, Mycroft glanced at the young doctor and remembered their last parting words, hadn't he asked the same.

Mycroft lead his brother Sherlock out of the room, both men mechanically taking their leave.

The dark haired detective received a call later from the hospital it was John's sister, he wondered how she had his number but tried to be civil all the same.

"He woke up." She sighed, a tremor in her voice. "I-he doesn't want to see you or your brother. Any of you. We don't want your charity. He's a proud man my brother. You know that. As soon as he's able they will transfer him. He wants to leave but has physical therapy to look forward to. I meant what I said. Just leave him in peace. He-he isn't the same man he was when he left. You should know that. So please respect his wishes and just stay away. It's for the best. Besides we don't need anyone. I am all the family he needs. "  Her voice steady but stern, she hung up without a pause. Sherlock sighed. Well his friend was alive, in pain, but he had his sister he wasn't alone.

"Harry who were you arguing with? Not Clara I hope." John's voice came out as a raspy whisper.

"Always Clara John, the divorce is final. So as I was saying you should come stay with me-just until you're on your feet again." The blond man shook his head.

"I'll be fine, they've made arrangements for me-"

"Invalid veterans home-John. I can help you." she stood her hands clutching her mobile, the tremors were becoming more noticeable, luckily her brother was still flying on pain meds. Harry hated hospitals, they brought back memories of years she attempted to drink away. These last couple of days here affected her more than she anticipated.  She would go, but first she made sure that those two Holmes assholes weren't going anywhere near her little brother. He was strong, he could get through this without any interference being a big boy now he wouldn't need her there to hold his hand.

"I wont put you out Harry besides I'll be out in no time find a nice Job I mean I was a –I am a Doctor."


	6. WITNESS

Army medic William Murray sat in front of his superiors, they wanted details of that attack, the one leaving several in the squad dead and injured. Bill was informed that the proceeding was being recorded to document his account. The army nurse,  still felt numb from it all, the whole of it still fresh in his mind. He was signaled to begain, and his eyes went blank describing the scene, the situation of how they'd been surrounded almost immediately, they were a medical team in a caravan of soldiers in route to a post further into newly acquired territory.

He described how suddenly one of the trucks at the front just exploded and the one after rolled over from the IED blast. Then came the shooting, Captain Watson had sprung into action. Bill would remember how some of the medical officers followed his orders, and the injured were placed behind the last couple of trucks offering cover. Some of the men were caught or thrown and the Captain ducked the heavy enemy fire to pull those men into safety.

**~0~**

"Captain Watson! John!"

"We cant leave them out there! They aren't dead yet!" The Captain  pulled free of the medics hold on his arm. Some men were stuck behind the rolled over Humvee. John had a way of making those around him want to be better to do better. So three others followed his lead bringing the wounded back with them.

"We need to draw fire away so those men can get clear!" he yelled and several of the others, the men listened carefully to his plan. And just like that they positioned themselves as instructed. A few minutes is all the Captain asked for. One of the injured men clutched his radio breathlessly calling for back up.

After three trips the four men had finally pulled the last injured over, the ones uninjured moved next to follow to the safer position. It was then that Private Wilson was hit, bullets spraying the sand around the younger kid.

"Damn it!" The Captain had the others tried to draw fire away, stepping out the Captain fired several shots before breaking into a run for the downed soldier,  the Captain fired his wepon once more, making contact with all expected targets.

_**~0~** _

Bill took a deep breath now, Mycroft shifted in his seat in response. Tensing he knew what was next, and he almost hit pause on the downloaded video file. Why did he care, why was he even watching, hadn't that witch clearly stated her brother's feelings towards the Holmes brothers?

Her words rang in the government official's head and they were disgustingly familiar. He couldn't blame Harry Watson, he had been in the same place when it was his younger brother in the hospital bed.

Seeing his younger brother in that hospital all those years ago,  had caused the usually unemotional man to verbally strike out. Something Mycroft Holmes hadn't done since childhood, he disciplined himself to measure every word. This made it easy to avoid hasty decisions, it also kept dirt off his hands, freed him of guilt or having to express an apology. He hated to apologize. This however would be his punishment for those cruel words and his childish actions against the injured soldier. Mycroft forced himself to listen.

"He wouldn't let anyone else go. His mind was made up and if you know the Captain once he's set on something there's no changing his mind." Bill smiled as another memory crossed his tanned face. Mycroft could read the man easily this medics whole life but he pushed the distraction away continuing to listen he would listen.

"He said _'It's ok Bill. I wouldn't order someone to do something I wouldn't do. Besides it's no big loss if it's me._ '"

The dark haired soldier then cleared his throat and continued on with his account.

**_~0~_ **

He headed back out, standing he hit two intended targets, then proceeded to stop the blood around the upper thigh of Private Wilson. Once wrapping the leg he fired again, the enemy was crawling closer and closer.

It was then the Captain was hit. Unsure at first, then a conformation when the Doctor's body tensed even from where he was the medic could see the blood pooling, staining the earth around the two men. The shot a snipers bullet, two birds one stone. Murry and two others rushed out as the second bullet hit the Doctor, that one had not penetrated his armor. But it had caused the pain of the first shot to register. Murry needed to get the doctor back the two men fired as Murry pulled the doctor from the dead kid. John fought to hold a hand to the boys chest as if trying to stop the bleeding.

"We can't help him John he's dead!" Bill pulled his Captain forcibly clear. 

"We need the Doctor!" one of the men yelled as an explosion too close for comfort sprayed them with rocks, sand and Bill acknowledged body parts.

"He is the damn doctor!" Bill growled, hauling John up against the side of their useless humvee. His hands moved under the vest pulling the armor free, eyes wide.

"Christ!" one of the men behind him gasped. John tried to hold on to the pain, to stay awake. Bill was trying to stem the flow, to pack the wound to buy his friend some time.

"No!" The Captain knew his injury he wasn't a fool, and help was too far off. They needed to get out not stick around, he'd said as much. But what had caught Murry off guard was the Captains next statement "Don't waste supplies on a dying man!" He cringed trying to catch his breath.

"Doctor!" Bill growled "John! You stubborn git stay with me."

"No morphine save it for the others. S'in order." Murry than described the chaotic aftermath, the Captain shouting orders on how to wrap the wounds, finally blacking out from the loss of blood, the injured had been airlifted and as backup arrived neutralizing the enemy.

Mycroft had seen enough, he closed the window of the audio file, suddenly needing a drink.


	7. LIKE A STONE

**CHAPTER 7. LIKE A STONE**

John hated the uselessness the realization of his returning to the front lines being absolutely off the table. They retired him, sentenced him to civilian life. He had nothing now, and his hands kept shaking despite everything he did to calm them to will them to stay still, to be steady. A terror started to nag at him, and he kept pushing it back, away, but it felt like his shadow following him so closely everywhere. Even in the light of the sun and worse in the night.

He couldn't keep his hands steady he would never be a surgeon. Harry had given him a phone when he'd gone quiet, lost in thought for days. She'd given up, not wishing to be around him.

He had become their father, home useless with a tremor and nightmares. And those had been horrible after the first nights of non drug induced sleep. John had hoped they'd get better, easier to deal with but no they became more and more intense.

This is why he couldn't go to Harry, that and she hadn't spoken to him in the last five years. He hardly had met Clara, Harry hadn't even invited him to her wedding. She hated him, and when her cool blue eyes found his he read anger, pity, and disgust, mostly disappointment and John could understand that.

Harry visited out of a sense of obligation; he wondered why she punished herself when she clearly wished to be anywhere but around him. He had nothing, no family, just the army and now he didn't even have that. He disappointed them all, why was he allowed to live? He recalled his silent prayer when he was hauled away from the dead Private Wilson. _"Please God let me live."_ What a selfish thing to pray for, and even then why was he allowed to live, why had his prayer been answered when so many others more worthy had died?

Once he started physical therapy the hospital set him up with a therapist.

A fat lot of help she was, she didn't understand. And he knew the limp was psychosomatic, he was a Doctor for Christ sake! The pain felt real enough, the tremors embarrassing, John just sat in his room staring at the wall, afraid to close his eyes, but so very exhausted.

Every time sleep crept up on him, all he could see were Wilson's wide frantic eyes, he was a kid damn it! And the faces of countless others John had failed to heal continued to haunt his dreams. All of them scared, and John had promised, how many times had he promised. To how many wounded and dieing men? Knowing it was empty hope but all the same he said it. _"It'll be alright. You hear me! You'll be alright."_

John recalled, how Wilson's green eyes instantly calmed, his hand still clutching the captain's sleeved arm. John wanted to stop the bleeding, he already fired his browning twice at the men nearing, he needed to get Wilson clear, and safe, that's when it happened.

So fast that at first John hadn't realized it, the shock from the initial hit robbed him of his thoughts, it wasn't until those trusting green eyes widened and the life drained from them that John understood. The hand on his sleeve falling limp, and a pool of blood started to spill out behind the young man, how had John missed that wound? He thought numbly, and it was then his own chest felt warm.

"I'm sorry." John thought before the pain of another hit vibrated through him forcing him onto the already dead soldier. Then someone was pulling him he couldn't leave the kid. Those wide eyes, watching him being towed away a trail of blood following. Whose? John had wondered, his or Wilson's?

Useless, John thought staring at the white wall of his room, snapping out of those dark memories. This room screamed institution, a half way house to adjust the injured soldiers to civilian living. John wondered if he would ever be adjusted. He felt so lost, and for the first time in his life he understood why his father and sister chose to drown their sorrows, he'd give anything for the numbing, he wondered if it would quiet the nightmares. He decided against it almost immediately, he wouldn't become his father, not completely. He remembered something that another addict had explained to him the advantages of drug use, to quiet the racing thoughts and make the world just that much more interesting. John wasn't going to go that route, he could at least keep a piece of his former self intact. That addict hadn't been convincing at all.

"Sherlock." A small laugh escaped him, the image of his friend popping up in his head. John wondered if he had cleaned up, even after all this time John thought of his friend. Did he become a mad scientist? He was a lay about some days, and Mycroft had always cringed at the thought of his younger brother becoming a philosopher.

Sherlock scoffed at that, he didn't have the social skills to be a philosopher or the patience. John winced again, thinking of Mycroft the stinging words in the hospital five years ago, and than again three years ago when he'd tried to reassign John. John thought the older Holmes could let it go, but instead the older man now a very high ranking Government employee tried to stall John's career. He somehow procured a transfer to an army hospital far from the front lines.

Mycroft hadn't said a word when John asked him why. The man had traveled all the way to Kandahar and had the Doctor meet with him upon arrival, all just to warn the Doctor off.

John a Lieutenant at the time asked about Sherlock and Mycroft replied coolly "He's sober." The Doctor had exhaled, he exhaled a breath he'd been holding for two years. Then came the sting of it, Sherlock hadn't replied to John's emails, or letters. After he tried to see the younger Holmes at the rehab center and was turned away. Shouldn't he have come to this conclusion?

Looking at Mycroft the younger John felt the knife twist even further, that same condemning look. John had guessed the busy man had come to scare him off, to demand he halt all communication, to stop harassing Sherlock. So John had beat him to the punch, that was the last time he spoke to Mycroft Holmes and the day he sent the last email. That hollow feeling had followed him around for months but he pushed it away. Especially after almost over night he'd been returned to his original assignment. That spoke louder than anything, another show of how far the Holmes reach was.

These were dangerous memories that he nearly allowed to resurface. Very dangerous, still he couldn't help but think about that day he met a runaway pirate while on the way to the Library.


	8. THE ESCAPED PIRATE AT THE LIBRARY

**CHAPTER 8. THE ESCAPED PIRATE AT THE LIBRARY**

John held his books under his arm, he wanted to return them and check out some new ones on William Braydon maybe a biography. He found the assistant surgeon of the British East Indian Company very interesting. Well he found any thing on the military interesting and it was a way to pass his time, the summer holidays were too long. He dreaded summer Holidays more than anything, at least he had started early on with the reading list. Maybe this would give him an advantage in the coming school year, his stomach growled reminding him he hadn't eaten and it was already past noon.

"No use in complaining, not like we can do anything about it." He hated the empty feeling in his belly and even though it was always present during the summer holidays it was something he could never get used to. He hoped that Harry would bring some chips home again from her job, but doubted it, besides she hadn't been home in days. Just another thing to worry about, he didn't want to think of the trouble she got up to.

While he cut through the park he heard loud voices, John usually liked to mind his own business, today however he ignored this fact. He followed the familiarly loud curses, wondering what poor animal was being tortured today by the Williams boys.

He spotted the three Williams brothers advancing on a kid not an animal, although he might as well have been the way his eyes scanning the three, sizing them up. Wide gray intelligent eyes, his dark mop of curls unruly, John could see he was searching for a possible escape but they'd cornered him against the fence.

John new these kids, they went to his school and Tommy the oldest of the three played on the rugby team. The smaller dark haired boy he'd never seen before. The kid was skinny and reminded John of one of the porcelain figurines mum used to have on the shelves. Before his father had broken them all. Looking at the fair skinned kid, John guessed he had to be seven maybe eight, and his clothes weren't exactly play clothes. He was on his way to a piano recital or a funeral, maybe. John could hear Tommy Williams swearing drawing his fist back, he sent it into the smaller kids stomach. The blond boy winced, dropping his books, what the hell were they up to? That kid was way to small for them to be pounding on.

"Oi!" John yelled. "What the hell!?"

"Oh, Watson what do you want?"

"Let em loose." John growled, "He's just a kid. I cant believe you lot picking on a toddler."

"I am hardly a toddler." The dark haired boy managed in a hoarse voice. He was attempting to suck in air, ineffectively. John ignored his smart ass comment and continued to stare Tommy down. "I said let em loose!"

"This isn't your business Watson, why don't you run home to your drunkard daddy and whore sister." And that was it, John hadn't intended for it to go that far but one minute he's standing in front of Tommy the next he's punching the other boy in the face, his two friends let the smaller boy go and started in on John. It wasn't a fair fight, and John hadn't eaten in two days, any other time he'd of managed a little better. This time he ended up on his back staring up at the cloudless sky, and pair of inquisitive gray eyes looking intently down at him like a specimen to be studied under a microscope.

"You blacked out." The kid stated casually almost bored.

"Not the first time, or the last I guess." John sat up his left side hurt and he winced, he could taste the blood in his mouth. "You ok?" the dark haired boy pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket.

"Of course I'm fine. You however seem to be bleeding." John put a hand to his nose. "So I am. Thanks but it'll stop on its own, besides I don't think your mum will be to happy if I get blood on this." The dark haired kid shrugged "I have more." The blond kid looked over the smaller one, noting the dark haired boys blazer seemed a little dirty but nothing too bad, no bruises on his face.

"It seems after they beat you unconscious they no longer had the energy or urge to continue with me." John nodded

"Sounds about right." Standing he held the handkerchief to his nose, glancing down at his blue and white stripped shirt his stomach turned, he only had a handful of good shirts and this one was his favorite now the collar was ripped and he'd never get the grass and blood stains out. "So who are you here with?" John asked his voice coming a bit muffled from holding the kerchief to his nose.

"I've decided to stretch my legs and go for a walk, when those imbecilic apes started to annoy me."

"Yeah they can be a bit dense. They only punched you once right?"

"I've been hit harder by the girls at my school. I'm fine." John laughed and then winced.

"Well good day then. You can keep the handkerchief, like I said I have others."

"Wait-" John called, gathering his books from the grass, glad they were unharmed. The dark haired kid continued on as if he hadn't heard John at all.

"Hey! I said wait." John stepped in front of the younger boy.

"What?"

"What? Is that anyway to treat someone who just saved you from a beating?"

"No one asked you.'

"I suppose you're right. Still, how old are you?"

"Six."

"Six? You're a bit tall for six." The dark haired boy shrugged.

"And you're a bit short for eight." John laughed now amused.

"Fair. Seriously though, where is your guardian, or parents. "

"Like I said I wanted to stretch my legs."

"You ran away?"

"More like escaped the nanny."

"Right then. Come on." John took the boy by the arm.

"Unhand me, I don't appreciate your accosting me. I'm going nowhere with you. I'm busy."

"Oh? Do tell."

"It's of no matter to you."

"Listen-er what's your name?"

"Sherlock." the boy rolled his eyes "Anything else?"

"Sherlock, it's a ruff neighborhood for you to be here alone. Where do you live? Where is your minder? I'm sure your parents are besides themselves, your mum especially."

"They probably haven't even noticed I'm gone. Besides I don't need them. I can take care of myself."

"So I see."

"That was an exception."

"Right. So it's settled. You're coming with me to the library than I'm taking you home."

"Did you say Library?"

"Yes, it's a place where people go to check out books and-"

"I know what a library is! I just hadn't realized this little town would have one."

"Every place has a library."

"Well lead the way, I am interested in finding a book to read. It would a marvelous way to pass the time for now."

"So Sherlock-"

"Yes, John."

"Wait how do you know my name?"

"The red haired boy with the black trainers, I believe he left that shoe print on your forearm, he called you John. Well technically he used a very interesting noun and then your name."

"I bet. As I was saying, what kind of books do you find interesting?"

"Pirates."

"Pirates?"

"Maybe one of those idiots kicked you in the head. I really hate repeating myself."

"Oh, I got you. Pirates. You just seem like more of a dinosaurs kind of kid."

"Dinosaurs are for babies."

"To each his own." John smiled and the young kid with his long legs managed to keep up with John.

"So why were they harassing you?"

"I told the taller one he was a bed wetter-"

"You what?"

"It was truth."

John laughed now earnestly, trying to picture the look on Tommy's face.

"It was something like this." Sherlock answered the unspoken question by showing John a great imitation of the frog-faced bully.

"Dead on!"

"I usually am."

"Aren't you smug for some one so young." Sherlock's dark eyebrows arched. " I know your name is John Watson. You have an older sister whose never home probably because she's staying with her boyfriend, and your father is a drunk. Your mummy is dead. You wish you weren't on summer holiday. Maybe because you like school, most likely because your father is a drunk. And you want to be a doctor or a soldier when you grow up." Sherlock stood stiffly now, waiting for John to shout and even punch him. But he hadn't, he only grinned.

"That was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant."

"You think so?"

"Yes. Does that surprise you?"

"It's just not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off." John laughed despite his empty stomach; throbbing headache and split lip. "So was I right?"

"Yes, almost. My sister is staying with her girlfriend. Harry isnt really into boys. Something Dad isnt to happy about."

"Girlfriend. Well there's always something."

At the library the younger boy demanded John check out seven pirate books and a book on botany. Even though he knew how to read, which impressed John immensely, he wanted them read to him.

John settled on three one being an advanced book on plants. He first demanded the boys address before he continued with the deal. And the younger boy obliged, with the agreement that after the first two that he would walk the smaller boy home.

John lead Sherlock into a section of the small library that had bean bags of all different colors "Absolutely atrocious" the younger boy had remarked. John plopped down into one and gestured for Sherlock to do the same. Surprisingly enough the younger boy found the odd shaped furniture comfortable. "This is the part of the library we can be loud in." John explained and it was then that Sherlock noted several other children his age or younger sitting with a parent and being read to. Mostly books with pictures and shapes. He shook his head in disgust, turning back to John waiting impatiently for the blond to start the story.

Sherlock listened to John's tone he even did the voices. Pirates were brilliant and they had such adventures no one told them what to do. Always dashing about, somewhere to go. No older brothers to rein you in, no nannies nothing.

"Alright Sherlock it's getting late and I'll be having to be home so lets go." It took them a few hours to walk to Sherlock's house, the idea that the younger kid had navigated himself down the winding road seemed a bit unsettling. Finally they reached a long drive way leading up to what looked like a castle of sorts.

"Well you've walked me home. Bye John." John held back a laugh at the dismissive tone of his new friend.

"Nice try Sherlock." John went up to the big wooden door and knocked no answer, so he rang the bell, all the while gripping the younger boys collar. "I agreed to give you my address so you could walk me home! Well we're here, I never agreed to go inside!"

"Yes." The butler that answered looked John over as if he were a beggar.

"Uh, yes. I seemed to have found something that belongs to you."

"Unlikely." The butler snorted ready to slam the door on the filthy child. Then the blond kid with the bruised lip pulled a dark haired boy out from behind him.

"Move Royce!" The young master growled. "Come along John. Might as well come in." The blond boy nervously stepped around the butler, who gave him a cold look.


	9. FIRST IMPRESSIONS

 

**CHAPTER 9. FIRST IMPRESSIONS**

John looked around in awe, the house was much bigger on the inside and everything seemed so breakable and expensive. He nervously checked his shoes for dirt afraid to track it in on the nice rugs. "Defiantly should be going." John stammered about to turn around. Sherlock ignored the blond boy and grabbed his wrist pulling him towards the steps. John couldn't help but follow, or be pulled over.

"I want to show you something."

"Sherlock Holmes!" a very stern voice called out John knew that tone, it was a tone a teacher takes with a misbehaving student. The two turned now to come face to face with a fairly thin woman, she wore a black skirt and a red silk top. Her shiny red nails on her hips, she couldn't be very old, except her hair was tied in such a tight bun that John wondered if it would smooth out the wrinkles of anyone's face. "Where have you been!" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And who is this?" John frowned looking down on his worn out converse, and his jeans had a rip he hadn't noticed, he usually took better care of his clothes. His jeans would have that grass stain forever, but nothing he could do about it now.

"None of your business, Evie or Eva or whatever your name is. I'm busy." John tensed expecting the woman to snap; he guessed she was the nanny.

"Agnes!" she corrected taking a threatening step forward, John broke in quickly offering his hand.

"John Watson ma'am. I'm a friend of Sherlock's. Met him in the park today."

"Did you now?" Her eyes narrowed on the blond kid, she didn't take his offered hand, turning up her nose, eyeing him as if he were a fly in her soup. Sherlock huffed rolling his eyes impatiently.

"Yes the park. Now if you don't stop harassing John and I, I'll be forced to tell mummy that I was out at the park alone for several hours and you hadn't even noticed till twenty minutes ago. I bet she'd be interested to know about what kept you preoccupied, you and Mr. Gardner."

"You insolent little-"

"I'll have a warm milk and John wants chocolate milk, we'll take our sandwiches in my room. Doesn't matter what kind." John's eyes widened but before he could deny the request or rather demand, his dark haired friend was pulling him up the stairs.

John tried to slowly eat the meaty sandwich but his stomach was so relieved to be appeased that he all but swallowed it in a few bites, nearly forgetting to chew, following it up with on quick swig of chocolate milk. He looked around, realizing he was sitting on an unmade bed in a very messy room, crayons and papers with drawings and painted pictures littered the floor, as well as clothes and several toys that had been dismantled.

Sherlock placed the three books on his unmade bed. John nervously wondered if it had been a good idea to check out those books in his name, surely this kid would lose them in this mess.

"Don't worry John. This gets cleaned up daily. This is just today's musings. The maid will put her nose in here and touch everything, throwing it all into a disorganized mess. It's really the most irritating thing in the world. Next to my older brother. But he never comes in here. He's the most irritating person you'll ever meet."

"Oh. There's two of you?"

"Look." Sherlock ignored the question, pulling a steamer trunk out from next to the twin sized bed with a blue comforter. Sherlock took a key he kept in his pocket to open the very heavy lock. "This is where I'm keeping my latest experiments." John's eyes grew wide at the many Jars of different things, one had a bunch of dead spiders this made him shiver, another had a piece of bread with green fur growing over it.

"That was one I almost forgot about it's the affects of mold on buttered bread." John nodded dumbly.

After the tour of Sherlock's many experiments which John had found all very interesting, he decided for sure this kid was a genius. Sherlock pulled several game boards out from his cluttered closet.

"Sherlock Sylvie says it's dinner time." Mycroft paused in the entrance of his brothers horrifyingly disorganized dwelling. There was someone else with his brother sitting cross-legged playing a game of cluedo.

"I see you have ah-er a guest. I'll let Sylvie know to add another plate."

"Oh, no it's fine. I should be going." John jumped up to his feet a glance outside the window they sat under warned that it was getting late.

"Fine, let Sylvie know." The smaller boy shot to his feet irritably once again ignoring his new friends protests.

"Sherlock-" John started to argue slowly.

"Dare I ask where you found him?" Mycroft straightened his dinner jacket, John realized that the older Holmes brother was wearing a gray suit, and he was ignoring John completely. The older brother was taller than John, taller and bulkier, John guessed him to be 17 or 18 maybe. The way he spoke, made him seem older, and intimidating.

"I met him in the park! Shut it Mycroft you fat ass." John winced, these two didn't seem the swearing type, their speech dripped posh boarding school and edicet all that stuff. That and hearing those words from a young mouth just seemed out of place and inappropriate. John caught the anger flare in the bulkier kid, instinctively he took a step in front of the dark haired boy.

"It's true. We had a bit of an interesting day." John cut in with an easy smile, Mycroft narrowed his eyes on the blond. Taking in his appearance, shaking his ginger head he sighed. "Oh Sherlock, dragging another person into your fight-when will you learn to keep your mouth shut and act normal."

"Maybe when you lose weight."

"Doubtful." Mycroft growled.

"I really should-"

"Nonsense John after dinner we can have Robert drop you home." John's stomach growled hungrily, if he went home now he'd go to bed on an empty stomach but dinner couldn't be too bad.

"Thanks." John agreed and Sherlock pushed past his older brother, who had to step to the side of the doors entrance to avoid being knocked over.

"Shut the door behind you will you John. Don't need Mycroft putting his pointy nose in my room."

John weakly gave Mycroft an apologetic glance before closing the door behind him. Mycroft watched the two descending the stairs. He hadn't ever seen his brother excited about anything other than a stupid experiment but he was laughing now, that blond kid had said something and his little brother the spoiled brat laughed.

The teenager sighed heavily, this was another stray, Mummy and Father would never allow it. Although the kid had taken a beating for his little brother. That was always worth something. If Sherlock had turned up damaged in any way mummy would have been inconsolable for weeks. At least this John, had manners of some kind.

The taller Holmes brother unlocked any mystery of the boy easily in a quick glance; he wasn't exactly a Rubix Cube. John's posture and hair cut screamed Army brat, defiantly raised by a single parent, a drunk father maybe, has an older sister who is never home. Not exactly poor just ignored, so middle class, judging by the long sleeved striped shirt the kid wore in the summer, the father was abusive definitely a drunk. Wonderful. Well the faster they feed the stray the faster they could dump him back off where Sherlock picked him up from. He hoped his brother wouldn't become too attached. The last mutt had been dropped at the pound and his brother had thrown such a tantrum. Mycroft was glad his room was on the other side of the house. Still he definitely didn't want a repeat of the puppy incident, it would be taxing on mummy's nerves.

John took a seat at the table he'd been sure to wash up the best he could, self conscious about his dirty shirt, but Sherlock just shrugged and told him not to worry. To his complete and utter relief the only ones at the table for dinner was the three of them. Sherlock frowned briefly and Mycroft took a seat clear at the other end of the long table in a very niece dining room.

"Mummy isn't feeling well Sherlock." Was all the older brother said.

"She seemed fine this morning." He murmured John didn't understand the need to cheer up his new friend, but he asked

"So Sherlock what are you going to do next? Does it have to do with botany?" This made the younger kid's eyes light up and John listened to the easy chatter of an excited six year old about photosynthesis. John had no clue what his new friend was carrying on about but made an attempt to follow. At the end of dinner, Mycroft who had been silently reading his own book the whole time sighed heavily.

"Sherlock I think it's getting late you should allow your prisoner his release. I think he's put up with you enough for the day."

"He's right. I should go."

"Alright I'll go with –"

"You will not Sherlock. Let the poor boy alone. Stop pestering him. You know mummy is going to want to hear you play before she goes to bed. And don't think I haven't noticed that you just pushed your food around." Sherlock scowled at his brother.

"Calm down. Its not like you wont see me again. Besides you should finish eating you only had half sandwich today." John patted his friend's shoulder. Mycroft stood amazed his brother allowed such a sentimental gesture and he'd eaten lunch, very interesting.

"Eating is dull."

"Yeah but you still cant function without food." John could only shrug.

Oh, dear, Mycroft let out an exasperated breath. The blond boy wasn't exactly appropriate company. Although he couldn't be more than a couple years older than the petulant six year old, who stood watching him with such curious eyes. Father would never approve of this friendship. Not because of John's age, more that he had no social standing. There was nothing to benefit being aligned with such an individual. Most people would say friendship wasn't based on such terms. But Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes had been raised differently, father didn't believe in sentiment or nostalgia. Father always stressed the importance of social standing, a man was who his friends were. Even then, Mycroft knew father didn't have friends, for that much neither did Mycroft, only acquaintances, and Sherlock didn't have the social skills to make friends or acquaintances.

Mycroft couldn't understand it himself, but seeing his brother smiling easily, actually smiling caused something in him to wish it could be something his brother could have. A friend, that was too much to hope for, but perhaps this John Watson could be an experiment in social edict. For that reason Mycroft resolved not to inform father just yet.

Not unless their father asked, which Mycroft understood he wouldn't, the Holmes brothers would be lucky to see father anytime before the end of summer holiday. So for now Sherlock could keep the stray, as long as it didn't make a mess in the house.

Maybe this boy John will entertain Sherlock for at the very least another day, anyone who can stay in his brothers presence longer is either an idiot or a saint. Looking at John Watson he wondered which.

"Mycroft. Nice meeting you." The young boy smiled easily, Mycroft didn't get up from his chair, interesting this John Watson.

"Likewise" came the bored reply, he waved Robert forward and the chauffer started to lead the boy out.

John held back a giggle when Sherlock who made a face as his brother spoke. Maybe summer holidays wouldn't be so bad after all.


	10. FEEs

 

**CHAPTER 10. FEES**

"Let me get this right, you want to pay me to hangout with Sherlock?"

"Well, more like compensate you."

"No."

"I haven't even named a figure-"

"I'm not interested."

"Well you become very loyal very fast."

"You can't buy people Mycroft. I'll hang out with Sherlock because he's my friend. I'll admit he can be a bit high strung-" Mycroft snorted at that, John ignored it and continued, "like I said he can be a bit high strung but he's my friend. I have to go." He had shocked Mycroft, who thought surely this kid wasn't going to stick around longer than another day, let alone two weeks into summer.

Mycroft had already managed to concentrate on other matters related to school, he even sent off his admission letters, for a government internship weeks earlier than anticipated. It was only fitting to try and keep this John Watson around as long as possible, and the only way Mycroft knew how to accomplish such a feat was good old fashion bribery. He hadn't anticipated this reaction though, it confused and irritated him all at the same time.

When father found out about Sherlock's new playmate, Mycroft convinced him easily the upside to the situation, it wasn't as difficult to convince father that having a constant companion for Sherlock benefited all involved. Mummy was staying in her room more and more, Mycroft had a feeling father would be sending her back to the hospital, so she could recover from these manic episodes in more private settings. Although mummy stayed in her room heavily medicated, the older Holmes knew that his baby brother was greatly affected when she wasn't home. He got up to his worst mischief during these times, something Mycroft had no intention reliving, seeing how it was always up to him to find a new replacement nanny and house staff. That is where John Watson came in, he was the perfect distraction for Sherlock and so far he'd seemed to be some what of a good influence, seeing how Sherlock had yet to drive away the new maid, his nanny, and any of the kitchen staff.

"John." Mycroft halted the shorter boy, "Don't treat me like he does. I'm not your enemy. I'm just concerned about him, constantly. And you're going to have to eventually choose whose side you're on in this childish little war between my brother and I."

It was Mycroft to make his exit leaving a confused John to stand under the shade of the oak tree, watching the taller Holmes' departure.

"Your brother is something." John plopped down shaking his head.

"Did he offer you money?" Sherlock was putting some bees into a jar, another experiment.

"Yes."

"Did you take it?" Sherlock asked in his usual bored tone, John examined his friends face, if he didn't know the kid he'd think that the question meant nothing but John understood there was more to it than that.

"No."

"Pity, next time take it and we'll split it." Both boys were laughing now. "Mycroft always tries to buy me friends. I don't need any. I've just got one." John handed Sherlock the newest library book.

"As requested sir, don't get this one wet…I had to use Harry's hair dryer just to make sure the pages weren't ruined."

"Interesting idea for an experiment-"

"Oh, no. Not on a library book. Its me who gets fined. Maybe I should have said yes. It would cover my library fees." John leaned back against the garden wall. "So what are we up to today?"

"Oh, I thought we'd go on a covert mission."

"Covert?"

"Yes. Did you bring the super glue?"

"Um, yeah. But I was going to ask you about that, what exactly do you need it for? Are we building a model plane? Or something?"

"Oh John! You are truly a conductor of light! You just gave me another idea, but first we are going to put glue on all the handles of Mycroft's umbrellas, so when he reaches for it his hand is stuck! It's genius! My arch enemy would never see it coming. It's BRILLIANT!"

"Sherlock-your brother would murder us both."

" _ **IF**_ he caught us."

" And I almost expected an evil scientist laugh. And when did Mycroft become your arch enemy?"

"Since conception."

" I'm not even going to ask. And I wouldn't doubt you would get away with your little plan, but it would be me he'd find! He knows where I live, he'd probably have me kidnapped on the way home and murdered somewhere in the woods or some abandoned warehouse."

"I see your point Mycroft is quite over dramatic in anything he does. Well, then on to another idea. Come along John, could be dangerous."


	11. HINDSIGHT

 

**CHAPTER 11. HINDSIGHT**

Mycroft didn't have time to be looking over a certain soldiers medical discharge papers, or therapist notes that his blackberry carrying PA had acquired. Still, there he was doing just that, the Doctor would have to leave the invalid home soon, his therapist suggest he move in with his sister. Doesn't look like that was an option the Doctor cared for, he had an intermittent tremor and PTSD, Mycroft continued to scan the notes and the man's service record.

He should not feel guilt, he offered the younger man a way out. His family had been very generous in the past. Mycroft had made sure those scholarships went to John Watson, father agreed that it would be best to keep John and Sherlock together, knowing his brother's self destructive personality, and then his sudden interest in drugs.

John had discovered this faster than anyone in the family, he'd come straight to Mycroft, Sherlock felt betrayed at first but agreed to rehab. That was the first time, but he still maintained a habit until recently. Something Mycroft was keeping an eye on, all this and juggling this whole Moriarty problem. He didn't have the time to deal with an ex army doctor, who would refuse any help he or his brother would offer.

No, John was not his problem, Sherlock was hard enough to keep in line. Still he sat back remembering that first summer that Sherlock hadn't been underfoot starting fires from experiments gone wrong, harassing the house staff with frogs, rats and birds he'd brought into the house for yet another experiment.

It seemed the days that John Watson came to visit were the quieter days at the Holmes estate. Mycroft remembered the first encounter in which he offered John Watson monetary compensation, or rather incentive to keep Sherlock company. Astonishingly enough it would be the first time among many that the younger man would refuse to take any kind of payment for his troubles, irrational and foolish.

The British Government closed the file again, pushing it aside, he refused to waste anymore time on this. He should have let father separate the two, this mess would have been avoided. In fact towards the end of that summer, Mycroft learned just how much the young John Watson kept Sherlock in line.

**~0~**

Mycroft hadn't been happy with the plane incident he and a group of his acquaintances had put a wager on things to see whose plane could go higher, yes a childish game and below Mycroft's station, but the son of a certain board member liked this hobby. Mycroft knew he would need to move people like chess pieces. To do this he first needed to be in a position on the board, to come into play. And Sherlock almost made him a fool by switching the controls of the plane, luckily Mycroft caught on a faster than his brother would give him credit for.

First he'd have a sit down with his brother, it was then he was greeted by a very perturb nanny and another five servants had quit, the butler was more than ruffled and Mummy was refusing to leave her room. Mycroft had arranged for a trip to the beach hoping the sunshine would bring their mother out of this depression, knowing he wouldn't have to go along if John agreed to accompany Sherlock and mummy. Besides the few instances mummy had met the other boy, she'd taken a liking to his easygoing personality. At least he had manners, yes, Mycroft decided he would make the necessary arrangements. But first to find his brother.

"Sherlock."

"Piss off Mycroft you're not my dad I don't have to listen to you. Stop trying to boss me around!" the six year old crossed his hands over his chest, he'd been sitting under a tree pouting.

"Brother. Cursing is not very becoming. And it is the language of the witless. You could do better I think."

"Shut up Mycroft. Shouldn't you be off with your new friends?"

Mycroft took a deep breath. "Where is your little companion, I haven't seen him in a few days." Mycroft caught how his brother's shoulders sagged he shrugged. "Did you two fight?"

"No. I don't think so. He was fine a couple days ago. But he hasn't come since; I went to his house but his sister, nothing at all like John. But then again, we can give praise that we aren't our sibling's likeness."

"Sherlock-"

"Well, I asked her if John was home, I had Royce take me, she said he was sick. But-"

"But?"

"I know she was lying. She told me to _'get lost'_. I would have called him but I don't have his number." Mycroft sighed heavily; his plans would be ruined if his brother's normal minder wasn't around. Mother would never be able to handle a week at the beach with Sherlock, the nanny would definitely quit. He would go and find out what was wrong, surely whatever his brother had done could easily be rectified, John Watson was a reasonable boy. For his sake, Mycroft thought darkly he better be.

"Stay out of it Mycroft." Sherlock growled reading his brother's face easily. And Mycroft looked at his younger brother, offering him a tight smile, "Oh, I could care less brother. I have better things to do. Now you apologize to Agnes, and whatever you've done to ruffle Royce you rectify it. "

"Make me." Sherlock tried to stand up straighter to meet his taller brothers eyes. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose closed his eyes tightly silently counting to ten before speaking.

"Do not make me tell mummy, you know how this would upset her."

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled marching off irritably.


	12. A VISIT

**CHAPTER 12. A VISIT**

Mycroft hated legwork, he would have sent one of the house staff but this was a delicate matter, something he would deal with face to face. It was noon, he noted the car in the drive, an older car and from the look of the oil stained drive it was on its last legs. John's father was employed so Mycroft wondered at the car in the drive, during the middle of the day, perhaps Mr. Watson had today off. This might make things interesting; he could then kill two birds with one stone.

Mycroft sighed reaching the door to the small two story house, he took in the well kept yard, the grass was cut and the yard clean but the neglected flower beds seemed so out of place. And John's father a retired military man no doubt expected no less than a neat yard. Perhaps it was John's mother who had kept the flower beds alive, and without her presence the veteran soldier had no patience or skill for gardening.

Mycroft had done a background check on John and his family, well he had their solicitor do it. It turned up nothing of real interest. John's father was a widower, a veteran, two citations for drunk and disorderly, child services had come to the home several times over the last five years, but always found the complaints unfounded. That had been the only thing that raised an eyebrow, Mycroft was intelligent enough to read through the generic term, as the department was overworked and seeing how John's father was a war veteran, and provided a home and food that's all that mattered. Mycroft could also see that John received excellent grades in school, played sports actively. Although the school nurse and an A&E Doctor had sent reports to child services over suspicious bruises and a few broken bones. This had given the older Holmes brother pause, but as far as he could tell there hadn't been a trip to the A&E or report made to child services in the past year. So perhaps things weren't entirely so dire.

John's sister Harriett Watson's file was another subject all together,  seemed the older Watson was in and out of trouble with the police. Mycroft turned his nose up on her less than lady like activities at the local clubs. How was John so, ordinary?

"If you're looking for my Dad he's gone away on business." A young girl with a nose ring, opened the door before Mycroft could knock. She looked him over as if it were him that offended her with his presence. She reeked of alcohol, and looking down he realized she was holding a can of beer, not even close to legal age. "Shove off."

"I was hoping to speak to John Watson." Her eyes went wide and she took a step back placing the can in her hand behind her back hoping to hide it from view.

"You with child services?"

"No miss I'm not with the child services." Warning bells started to go off in Mycroft's head, John's sister narrowed her eyes, she didn't believe him.

"What do you want with Johnny then?"

"Well I heard he was under the weather. My younger brother wanted me to relay a message to him."

"Under the weather?" Harriett or Harry as she liked to be called snorted." Oh, the little curly haired twerp was yours? A bit of a know it all if you ask me. And here I thought I had a pest for a brother.  Well come in then before the neighbors start talking."

"People do little else." Mycroft replied in his normal bored tone, the girl only shrugged taking a swig of her beer.

"Oi! Johnny! You've got a visitor." She turned around "What you say your name was?"

"Mycroft."

"Really?"

"Yes, Harriett, really." She rolled her eyes again. Mycroft noted the cleanliness of the house, except where Harry had been watching tele several cans were opened and laying on the floor. Something was off, and Mycroft glanced around taking in the salon and from where he stood the small kitchen. Nothing suspicious there, everything was clean, that's what hit him everything was too clean. He caught it, a small minor detail, there had been a table to the right of the door, he could tell by the edge had rubbed into the wall over the years and he could see small shards of glass were missed when someone had swept up a broken vase?

"You said your father is out?"

"Yeah wont be seeing him for a bit. Good thing this place is paid up, worthless bastard. JOHNATHAN HAMISH WATSON! You have a visitor!" She didn't wait at the bottom of the stairs, Mycroft's keen eye took in the details around him and the story started to unfold. Scuff marks on the stairs, a boys small feet, and that of a mans. The dark marks where someone had tumbled down the stairs, perhaps a harsh push. Small hands had tried to catch themselves on the wall. Landing at the bottom of the stairs, Mycroft could see where someone had missed a few smears of blood on the small rectangular carpet, he followed the path of the scuff marks, a crack in the wall where a small figure had been pushed hard enough that their head would have caused a picture to fall and shatter. Mycroft knew from the discoloration of the paint in a perfect square, that a picture had once hung where this crack was. Finally the missing table near the door, with the shattered vase, all of this made Mycroft regret coming here, he debated on leaving when a small voice caught his attention.

"Mycroft?" John didn't come down the stairs he staid at the top, his face was shaded and Mycroft cringed, it was painfully obvious by his subdued tone, the slow shuffle towards the stairs. "Is everything ok? Is Sherlock alright?" once again this boy caught Mycroft off guard; his concern confused the older boy.

"Oh, yes. He's as petulant as ever. How are you feeling? Sherlock said you were under the weather. Summer colds are ghastly if you ask me."

"Oh, Right. Yeah, summer cold."

"He's been a bit of a handful. I think he's worried you aren't friends anymore. You know how dramatic he can be." Mycroft heard the boy start to laugh in agreement then winced. "John please come down it would be easier to speak with you face to face so I wouldn't have to yell up to you, and I think your sister would like to watch the tele without adjusting the sound over us."

"Cheers" she yelled irritably from the living room.

John slowly descended. He passed Mycroft moving towards the door, keeping his head down, this wasn't lost on the older Holmes brother he silently took in the boys movements, deducing John wasn't difficult.

"John I don't think the house staff will last long at this rate. If my brother doesn't have his assistant back soon. When might we expect you to make an appearance?" this situation Mycroft Holmes had to admit wasn't one he could easily handle. This child was not his business, nor was the boy's life. He could also see that it would easily embarrass them both if he stated the obvious. Mycroft wasn't one with feelings, he wouldn't know how to manage if John suddenly broke down. And everything in the older boy wanted to flee the situation put this house behind him. Something kept him firmly planted behind the younger boy.

There was no response from his brothers only friend. Mycroft felt something in him start to boil to the surface, a feeling he usually reserved for his younger brother, something in him wanted to pull the young boy out the door and into the car waiting just outside, a sudden protectiveness and it irritated the older Holmes, sentiment was not an advantage.

"John why don't you get in the car. We are having your favorite tonight, Risotto- "

"I cant leave right now." John glanced over in his sisters direction. Mycroft finally stepped in front of the young boy, his quick movement caused the younger boy to flinch. The teenager pretended not to notice, but he couldn't pretend he didn't notice the swelling in the blond boy's left eye, deducing it to be about three days old, already the skin was turning a nice shade of purple, the 17 year old Holmes having never experienced violence in his life was taken back by it. He kept his own expression even, "Get in the car John. I'll have a word with your sister."

"Huh?"

"I'll make the necessary arrangements. Mummy has invited you along with her and Sherlock to Portsmouth in Cornwall. Sherlock would be bored by himself and I would rather not be in the sun. You know how I do loath tedious exercise." John laughed despite himself, wincing again he put a hand to his newly split lip.

"Don't worry John we'll take care of it, get in the car." Mycroft handed the younger boy his silk handkerchief.

"Right. No it's ok. I'll talk to her-"

"Well your sister Harry has expressed your father has gone away on business. I'm sure she wont mind if you yourself went on holiday it would allow her more freedom, I should think."

"Yeah." John put a hand to rub the back of his head Mycroft could see more bruises, finger prints. John was fidgeting; he didn't like the direction the conversation was going in.

"I'm sure I can arrange it with your sister then."

"Ok." The younger boy didn't have the fight in him to argue with Mycroft's orders.

"This wont take but a minute John."

John didn't stay to hear what Sherlock's older brother had said to Harry, but he guessed it wasn't something she cared to hear. Seeing how she slammed the door behind the older Holmes brother without so much as a goodbye to John. Mycroft did have John's hoodie and he was grateful to put the brown hoodie on to cover his embarrassment.


	13. AVOID

**CHAPTER 13. AVOID**

Mrs. Hudson placed the freshly baked biscuits on the cluttered table top. She tutted, trying to clear a space. "I may not be your housekeeper dear, but I'll just clear off this mess here. How you manage to find anything in this? I'll make you some tea." She started for the kitchen rinsing out the kettle, then starting on the sink of dirty dishes. The young dark haired detective didn't look up from his microscope.

"Well he's a handsome boy." Mrs. Hudson picked up a small service picture that had slipped out of the stack of papers she'd just moved to the end of the small table. "Is he someone close?" she smiled fondly, the boy had a kind sort of eyes, in his uniform he looked very handsome, she'd been partial to blonds as a girl, and men in the military had always made her heart flutter. Of course she hadn't seen this picture before, or the young man coming to visit, she wondered how old this was, had the boys broken up. She had a friend Nancy that used to write letters to a young man in the army, she'd always assumed the two would be married but he never came home from Korea. And Nancy never spoke of him again.

The dark haired detective didn't reply but Mrs. Hudson continued on "Such a handsome face I think he has very kind eyes. A lovely blue, where is he now? Or is this part of a case?"

"He-" Sherlock didn't understand why he replied but the words seemed to have tumbled out of his mouth on their own, he'd meant to tell Mrs. Hudson to shut up but instead he replied in his usual bored tone. "He _was_ a friend of mine."

"Shame to lose someone so young. He must have been a special man."

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock frowned.

"You never call anyone friend, but this man you did. So he must have been very special. I think I would have liked him."

"Yes." Sherlock looked past the picture in Mrs. Hudson's hand. "He is very hard to dislike."

"How did he die dear?"

"Die?"

"Well you said he _was_ your friend-"

"Yes he was. He was injured in Afghanistan."

"Shame. Such a waste, to many young men dieing out there. I can hardly bring myself to read the paper. "

"He was an Army Doctor he took a bullet to his shoulder. And is now rehabilitating."

"Oh, a Doctor, and a handsome one at that. You couldn't do any worse dear."

"We had a falling out." Sherlock again didn't understand why he was telling her these things. He avoided her look of pity, instead she put the picture back on the table near his microscope. A hand rubbing his shoulder.

"Oh, we all have those kinds of moments. I don't know what happened between you two, but I do know that friends should never give up on each other. He doesn't look the type to give up easily."

"No he wasn't."

"Oh, my dear boy. I suggest you put your pride aside and apologize."

"And why would you assume it was me to cause the disagreement?" Mrs. Hudson smiled patting his shoulder saying nothing else she took her leave.

"I tried but he wont see me." Sherlock muttered to no one but himself. He thought of that first summer they'd spent exploring the woods around the Holmes estate, the trip to the beach the countless experiments successful and some unsuccessful. John had been his constant shadow and Sherlock resented him for it now. Why hadn't he just minded his own business, and done what everyone else did, why hadn't he just disappeared? Isn't that what most people in his life did. He starred now at the picture of John, his face held a tight smile, those sky blue eyes he knew so well.

This picture had been taken five years ago, when John was still young before the war added lines to his face and dulled the light in his eyes.

"I don't need you." Sherlock growled pushing away from the table. He couldn't be here in the flat he needed to clear his thoughts, grabbing up his coat he headed out, perhaps he needed to run an experiment on one of the cadavers in the morgue. He took up his riding crop, He did need to test out a theory.

In the cab Sherlock allowed his thoughts to drift away from the task at hand.

**~0~**

"Hey!" A familiar voice called out.

Sherlock refused to look away from the tree he was currently hacking into with a makeshift wooden sword he'd made using material he'd found in the gardening shed.

"Oh, hello John." He replied in the usual bored tone he reserved for Mycroft and his other handlers.

"Mycroft said we were going to the beach." Sherlock ignored the other boy.

"Oh, I see you are quite well. I thought you had a cold or some illness."

John sighed moving closer to the younger boy, he sat down slowly behind his friend. "Did Mycroft make you an offer you could not decline? Or did he use threats? Maybe both."

"Do you think I'd let old beak face tell me what to do? And if I haven't taken a bribe yet what makes you think I would now."

"Oh, fine. Then what's your excuse?" John made a face, he picked the grass now concentrating on his own hands, shrugging, holding in another gasp from the familiar soreness.

"I don't know. But I'm here now. Mycroft said I could spend the night if you want me to."

"I don't need my brother to plan my social calendar-" Sherlock turned on the blond boy, and his words fell away. John was wearing a brown hoodie. Odd, it was summer, John must have some kind of circulation problem seeing how he always wore jumpers or long sleeved shirts no matter how hot the weather. It wasn't the hoodie holding his attention, but the way his friend's hands moved anxiously picking at the grass, his shoulders slumped in defeat. John tended to do this when he was unsure or uncomfortable. Sherlock wondered briefly why he knew this small fact, it seemed useless, well up until now.

Well good John must be feeling guilty, and he should for leaving Sherlock there with only his boredom to taunt him and the idiots around him constantly complaining and nagging him for the ways in which he tried to alleviate the boredom.

"So do you want me to stay over? And go to the beach with you?" John looked up at the dark haired boy holding a wooden sword.

Quick eyes flicked over his friends face, Sherlock was young but he was smart, and he'd already put together some of the pieces of the puzzle that was John. It didn't take much to put things together but it confused the younger boy. The feelings that pounded through him, turning his stomach and making him feel as if he'd done something wrong for being angry with John, then outrage towards whomever dared hurt his friend. Still the six year old Sherlock was unable to put words to this emotion instead he shoved it all aside and decided to avoid anymore awkwardness between his only friend and himself.

"Well you're here already might as well stay." Sherlock plopped down next to his friend, his only friend. "John did you know your eye is a very interesting shade of purple?"

"Is it?" John laughed visibly relieved.

"Hungry?"

"Starved."


	14. Appetite and Heart

 

 

**CHAPTER 14. Appetite and Heart**

"You called Mycroft!" Sherlock groaned putting his slender fingers to his temples, he wished this headache wasn't so damned persistent and the pounding was gaining speed.

"I didn't have a choice! I warned you! I fucking warned you! And I warned Frankie!" Sherlock winced at the dark tones of his usually easy going abundantly patient friend, gray eyes scanned the med student's pale face. The deduction came quick, it wasn't a difficult one to guess that John had been in a fight, and by the deep scratch on the shorter man's cheekbone he knew with who.

"I take it you fought Frankie in the gym. He has a very distinctive class ring"

"I gave him what was coming to him! I warned him the last time I found that crap in our dorm room. You looked right at me and told me you were done!" John started to pace, he ignored the taste of blood on his lips, Frankie had been a foot taller but John knew how to take a punch as well as deal them out. Fear and anger had possessed him to go after the drug dealer, he'd found him in the gym probably exchanging cash for more cocaine. John hadn't cared he'd tackled the taller man and security had came to break it up but fearful of being caught Frankie fled with a warning. But John didn't care, he'd headed back to the hospital were he met an angry and stoic Mycroft in the corridor.

" Give me his name, assuming you left him alive." Was all Mycroft demanded John didn't hesitate taking the taller man's handkerchief for his own bleeding nose.

"Yeah, coward ran off. His name is Frankie Eston." The government official didn't say another word he only turned away and started to make a call on his mobile. That's when John had entered Sherlock's room to find his friend wide awake and fuming.

"I m being sentenced to rehab John I hope you're happy."

"Me, no. Far from it! You git! How could you be so stupid! I had to give you CPR!" John collapsed into a chair near his friend's cot.

"I wont go-"

"You will, or so help Sherlock Holmes I wont ever talk to you again. I've tried to be patient. But I wont watch another person in my life be victim to addiction and no matter what you think. **_it is. an_ _addiction_**. You promised me you'd quit but you haven't clearly. You will go and when you return I'll be here."

"That's it then your ultimatum. You're sounding more and more like Mycroft-"

"No. No. You don't get to treat me like this." John growled. "I wont stand by while you lose yourself to this-this poison. Do you hear me. I will never speak to you again." Sherlock read the resolve in his friends face.

"Fine." He muttered.

"Fine." John sighed falling back into the chair.

"John I think it's best you go home and get some rest. I would like a word with my baby brother privately." John shot a worried look at the younger Holmes, but his friend waved him off.

That had been the first overdose, there had been relapses after and John Watson could never follow through with his threats.

"John, I'm wondering if you are doing more harm than good for my brother." Mycroft had fumed outside the newest rehab.

"What are you saying?"

"I thought it was a good thing to have you keep an eye on my brother, but I think perhaps I should send him to another school far from temptation."

"He wont go for that Mycroft. Have you and your father tried to sit and talk to him? I mean really talk to him. After your mother died he's been-distant. He needs to feel support-"

"You are only a med student John Watson don't try and psychoanalyze my family. You haven't the right nor the wit." John held his ground against the angry Mycroft Holmes government official.

"I wont be bullied Mycroft. I am just telling you because I am a friend. I don't want this void between the two of you to widen anymore. I know you're scared to death, this one was a close one. But he has to want to be clean. And he needs a reason. I cant be with him all the time it's not fair to him it's not fair to me. Please. Just try. He needs you, you're his brother. Family is all we have."

"And why should I be lectured by a motherless boy who's father and sister are drunkards with no future?" John took a deep breath he knew Mycroft was hurting, the older Holmes was worried and the words cut John, but he refused to back down.

"You're right. I should know what addiction does. I know better than anyone, he's a good guy your brother. A right genius but he needs help."

"Help he shall receive John. If he relapses after this bout of rehab then rest assured he will force my hand and I'll cut him off. I only hope for your sake as well as his this doesn't occur." John stood quietly as Mycroft walked past him. But it had happened again, and John hadn't understood Mycroft's threat. Not until that day five years ago, a life changing day.

John recalled how Mycroft's usually cold uninterested mask slide away reveling the anger that boiled beneath. "Where were you this time John? " his voice steady and icy.

"Mycroft-" John didn't know what to say. This was his fault, all of it. Sure Sherlock had taken the drugs himself but John had left him-left him on a danger night. How could he have missed the signs? What a horrible night so far, between Sherlock and his sister's addictions John was finding it hard to keep himself sane. "I don't have any excuses." He replied defeated, running tired hands over his face.

"Of course not. Why my brother chooses to keep you around has always been a mystery to me. I thought I could trust you to keep him safe. You promised me-"

Harry's angry words still drummed in John's head. _"You would choose them over us any day wouldn't you John! We are your family not them! Yet you abandon us and now look what's happened!"_

What a mess, John tried to keep himself from being sick. First his father dieing in a car wreck, one Nathan Watson was at fault for and thank god it was a tree and not another car. Still, Harry had been the one to identify father's body. And John had to pick her up from the hospital. Funny enough this same hospital, only to return to the dorm to find his friend unconscious on the floor of their room. John  found the room trashed, his mail thrown everywhere, as if a tornado had hit.

"You were right John **I am** his brother. _**I am**_." Mycroft put a delicate hand to his own chest, his other clutched his damn umbrella handle. " _ **My brother**_." He stressed again. "I think he's done with you after tonight. I know I am. If you think any scholarship committee will see you now-" John didn't care about anything right now. Mycroft was angry he understood that, and an angry Mycroft wasn't a great thing, but would he really threaten his scholarships? "That said, Mr. Watson. I would like you to understand. My family is no longer a concern of yours. You should leave."

"No." Mycrofts eyes widened and John sighed "I will say goodbye to him." He went back into the room "I owe him that much." John turned his back on the taller Holmes' seething figure.

Sherlock laid on the bed his back to John, he'd turned over when he saw the blond man entering.

"Sherlock-"

"Is that it John I'm a burden to you. I always knew Mycroft hated me but you-"

"Sherlock" John went to sit on the edge of the bed a hand on his friends shoulder. "Sherlock look at me."

"Go away John."

"Sherlock I'm your friend. I ve always been your friend."

"Have you? Or is it just a way to use me-"

"Sherlock when have I ever-hey look at me." Sherlock didn't roll over.

"I found your scholarship acceptance letters John do you think I'm stupid? "

"What are you talking about? If this is about the applications I put in, you knew I was applying for more aid, I'm almost at graduation-"

"How long have you been taking my families money? You're just another minder."

"I don't understand-"

"The scholarships John, I'm not an idiot. They are from my fathers company." John felt sick, he'd turned in his application, written essays. He thought he won those on his own merit. His grades every point he worked to maintain. He applied to the uni and was accepted but was it? Remembering Mycrcoft's threats John felt sick. Was he even as smart as he thought? What if they'd manipulated his grades so he was able to continue going to the school with Sherlock. How dare Mycroft, how dare they manipulate him, how dare they treat the younger Holmes like an unwanted child.

"Sherlock just hear me out I'm your friend-"

"I don't have any friends!" Sherlock rolled back over to face the taller man who moved off the bed, hurt prickled his vision. "Leave John, I don't want to see you ever. You can clear out of the dorm-"

"Right." The shorter man swallowed and Sherlock watched a mask of calm fall over his ex friends face. "As a former friend I beg you to stay in Rehab this time, if you continue on this path you'll just end up dead."

"What do you care?"

"I do care Sherlock. Everyone cares, your brother cares he cares greatly for you that's why he's so annoyingly over protective. Family is all you've got in the end." John's voice broke off, and he needed to go, go somewhere and be sick to save face to get away from the swarm of feelings, threatening to crumble him.

"Go away John. I have no patience for fools, especially of the sentimental kind. I expect this is the end of our acquaintance and I for one am glad for it. You slow me down. Mycroft warned me that taking on a friend of such low standings and class was a mistake and he was correct. Sentiment John it's a useless feeling, it gives no advantage and is a chemical defect found on the losing side." John felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut for the second time in the last 24 hours.

"Well you might have given up on me. But I wont give up on you. Goodbye Sherlock." John turned and left his best friend behind leaving the room and escorted then out by the hired security of Mycroft's. He held in his anger, this was his fault why hadn't he paid closer attention why was he destined to keep messing up? Hadn't he tried to help Harry and failed so many times. Even his father was a lost cause. And then how could he not have known about the scholarships? Of course the Holmes had a hand in his scholarships. How could he have not seen through that?


	15. THE DECISIONS WE MAKE

**CHAPTER 15. THE DECISIONS WE MAKE**

A subdued and emotionally drained John Watson, walked straight to his dorm to clear out his things. He didn't have much, he packed quickly knowing Mycroft, he probably had a goon squad on their way to kick him out and he wanted to save himself the humiliation. The sun was already coming up and John with his box of few possessions a duffel of clothes and his red back pack, found himself standing at 7:30 am in the morning reading the message board in the courtyard.

A guy in one of his chemistry classes had seen him looking at the reader board for a dorm or a roommate wanted. "Hey John you can have my couch. My roommate is hardly there anyway. Besides summer quarter is just around the corner."

"Thanks Mike. I appreciate that it wont be for too long." Mike was too good to ask what happened to his last housing arrangements, he didn't care only took the black duffel bag crammed full of Johns clothes and directed him to his room.

John was to wound up to sleep he had to think about school. Without those scholarships he wasn't going to be able to finish his medical training. But he wasn't going to take money he didn't earn. "You alright John? You're looking a bit rough there." Mike was lacing up his trainers. "I'm going to go out for a run, track scholarship and all. You know have to stay in shape. "

"Oh, I'm fine, I'm just going to go for a walk myself."

"Sure mate, here's the extra key." John smiled gratefully and on legs of rubber he left a confused and worried Mike Stamford behind.

John passed a recruiting officer on his way back to the dorm and before he knew what he was doing he was signing his life away to the army, that would take care of the rest of his training, when he finished he'd be a doctor. And with no major debt, that and a little voice in him told him that deploying to another country was a way to be free from the disappointment he brought out in those around him.

Harry wasn't talking to him, his father was dead, he didn't have anyone anymore.

"John-" Mike looked over the contract.

"I'm no lawyer but you do know this is binding."

John nodded. "I know."

"There is a war on John." Mike added.

"Yes I am aware." Mike had only looked on him with an uncertainty as if trying to sum up his friend, wondering what act of desperation forced this change.

"Don't worry about me Mike. I'll be fine."

John made it through boot camp, though he was in excellent physical condition it wasn't as excellent as he thought. His skills in medicine and his high marks at shooting put him in a squad close to the front lines. He'd emailed Sherlock but received no reply. He even sent a letter but guessed it had been intercepted by Mycroft or one of his goons. Harry had written back once just to say she was disappointed in his decision to follow in their father's footsteps.

John had the army, if he didn't have anyone, he had those he helped heal and those he fought along side. He was a doctor a trained army doctor and soon climbed up rather quickly on his own merit and skill. He would send Sherlock emails knowing a letter would never reach him. He wondered if his friend was clean and sober what he was doing with his life now, if he'd found a passion. Maybe became a science major or a philosopher although he didn't have the people skills for it he did have the mind.

Some days were harder than others, the injured came in waves of blood and burns and torn flesh he found himself feeling as if it had no end in sight. Still he wrote to his old friend hoping for a reply, knowing that stubbornness could only go so far.

_**~0~** _

Mycroft had been out of country when he got the call that his little brother had overdosed again. He'd been on and off with drugs and after he had the last conversation with John and Sherlock, he thought he didn't have to worry. He had been naive to believe that his brother would see reason or that he could trust someone else to keep an eye on his brother.

Upon hearing that his brother had to be given CPR, Mycroft couldn't control the anger that boiled within. He blamed his staff, three he fired and he blamed the supposed friend John Watson. Mycroft never over reacted; he wasn't usually a man of rash decisions. But when he looked over the little data given to him he acted. And for that, years later Mycroft Holmes would feel an odd guilt yes if one had to label the emotion it was guilt.

The story was laid out for Mycroft Holmes, in a file one he'd pushed aside, "Sir?"

"I have no need in further information on John Watson. " Mycroft sneered. "Just see that he stays clear of my brother. Sherlock is in a delicate emotional state. I wont let him be sidelined this time."

That had been the wrong thing to do, had Mycroft set aside his anger and his own stubborn sentiment he would have found out sooner, would have corrected things. But by the time Mycroft Holmes of the British Government had looked over the file, and only because he'd been notified that John Watson was still trying to contact his little brother, it was too late.

Mycroft irritably called for the file on John, realizing that Sherlock was saving the emails being sent to him but never opening them. The older brother knew enough that curiosity would some day get the better of his little brother and he'd try to make contact with his ex friend maybe out of spite. Seeing how Sherlock had managed to stay clean thus far Mycroft didn't want to upset this streak. He would dissuade John Watson it wouldn't be hard after all Mycroft was now holding a high position in the British Government.

The file sat open on Mycroft's desk at the Diogenes club, his only refuge away from the constant paperwork and endless phone calls, meetings and averted government coups. First he read the report from two years ago, more data had been added to the now completed report. The older Holmes read it twice. The memory of that day still fresh with him, the emotions still raw.

_**John Watson received a phone call at 11:00 pm from Harriett Watson. John Watson's father Nathan W. Watson died as of 9:30 pm when his car spun out of control and slammed into a tree at speeds 3 times legal limit. Alcohol was a factor. Harriett Watson was called to identify the body, being intoxicated herself, she called John H. Watson for a ride as well as to notify him of his fathers passing. He arrived at the Hospital where an argument ensued he then escorted an upset Harriett Watson into a cab and home. Returning to his Dorm at midnight, where he placed a call to 999 emergency. The Paramedics report states that upon arrival they found John Watson administering first aid, the unconscious Sherlock Holmes was breathing and put on oxygen immediately.** _

Mycroft read it twice, that's where the boy had been, at the hospital, the same where Sherlock would be brought. Why hadn't he said anything? Of course Sherlock had found out about Mycroft's hand in getting his friend into the same uni. This was only half true, John's grades were the deciding factor, Mycroft only saw that John would be considered.

Still, Mycroft hadn't even tried to defend himself, he allowed his brother to believe whatever at this point about John. John Watson in short had a rough night, and Mycroft had misjudged the situation due to lack of data. A mistake he would not make again.

What he discovered next would forever follow the older Holmes brother, because that was the sequence of events that would directly affect another man's life a good man.

John Watson was nowhere to be found. Mycroft had checked the applications for scholarships, he hadn't been bluffing when he said he'd have the scholarships pulled, Holmes was a very old name and well known for their _"donations"_ to education. John hadn't applied through any of the medical programs. In fact he'd left the Uni all together, an unsettling fact Mycroft knew he'd have to locate the Med student, eventually his brother would realize his mistake and wish to contact John.

The older Holmes brother of course would make this easier, for no other reason than not wishing for his brother's recovery to be halted. Yes, that was his only reason, not sentiment or guilt.

Although the chance to set what was wrong right again was appealing. It wouldn't be a difficult task, after all, John had always been an understanding young man, disgustingly forgiving and Mycroft decided he would use this to his advantage.

He had his people run the name, and bring any information to him. It turned out John's sister had moved to London, renting out their childhood home, and was no longer speaking to her brother. John H. Watson was enrolled at St. Barts, he was on his residency and Mycroft winced running a hand over his face. The young med student had found a way to pay for med school. By joining the army.

The older Holmes realized it was too late even for a man of his position, John Watson had signed a contract, a binding contract.

Another uncomfortably foreign feeling rolled over the Government Official when he discovered where the young man was stationed. Guilt, and it propelled him into action.

Naturally he wouldn't and couldn't share any of this with Sherlock. His brother would become somewhat unpredictable and maybe relapse, no Mycroft would fix this before it drew his brother's attention, he could fix this. He would. He had to.

With no further hesitation Mycroft moved quickly to have John Watson moved, he was two years in and already climbed up in the ranks. Of course he would be, John had a natural drive towards success. Reading over the younger man's service file didn't help ease Mycroft's fears.

Reading between the lines of praise from the army doctors superiors, was reckless stupidity. John had already gained several medals for his bravery in the face of the enemy. He was a doctor he had no business-Mycroft took a breath. He wanted him moved, reassigned to a hospital maybe a veterans hospital here in London, where he could finish the remainder of his military obligations.

Then it would be Sherlock's decision to see the soon to be discharged Army doctor. Mycroft could make those arrangements; it would be best for all involved, he could fix this. After all that is what he did, what he was known for. Fixing things.


	16. WHAT SIBLINGS WILL DO

 

 

**CHAPTER 16. WHAT SIBLINGS WILL DO**

" _Johnny I gave you a phone for a reason. Well, I'll leave another message you can call me when you get this, or don't. I still think you should move in with me. There's plenty of room in the flat especially since that whore Clara moved out. Listen John, I am serious here. I've been clean almost six months. If you're worried about the drinking-well. Listen. I think you need friends right now and I'm the only family you have. Even if we aren't ever going to be friends. Do me a favor and call me. I'm worried about you Johnny."_

John hit delete on the voice mail, that was the fourth call this week and it was only three days into the week. Harriett knew that his time at the invalid facility was drawing to an end. But John wanted to stay in London, to find something affordable, he couldn't bare to leave the movement of the big city, movement and excitement, the air of freedom here. He could easily get lost among the throngs of people, everyone had somewhere to go somewhere to be. He wasn't apart of this, but he would settle for watching, he could settle being a stone in the river of London. People rushing around him, unaware of his own sadness, but just being apart of this world even as an observer made him feel a little better.

The battlefield had made him suspicious of silence, his instincts were to take cover in the silence to find somewhere to hide. London was never silent, besides he had some of the best memories here. These thoughts swirling in his head leaning on the loathed cane. Why couldn't he just part with it, why? He was a damned Doctor he knew it wasn't real(his limp), but the pain felt so tangible, it felt so real. And frustration made his hands shake worse, so he took to holding a fisted hand in his pocket.

He avoided his reflection in the glass windows of the shops and cafés. John didn't care to see the shell of a man he'd become. He'd lost weight too much according to his therapist, but what did she know, how could he think of food when his whole life had been taken from him. He'd known a couple months ago what he was doing every hour of the day, where he would be going, when he would eat, sleep and work. But now it was all so unknown and unpredictable. This is what frightened him and instead of telling her all this he replied stoically. "Food is dull."

This expression always brought a slight grin to his clean-shaven face. Followed slowly by a sharp pang in his chest, realizing all the things he'd lost. Again his thoughts wondered towards his old friend, they'd been mates at Uni. The times they had. The exhausting arguments and the pranks-Sherlock had been good with pranks. They were so close that John had given up trying to convince their classmates that they weren't a couple.

And then the drugs started to take over. How terrifying those times had been for the med student. He'd known his friend had mood swings and bouts of boredom, but he'd never guessed at how far Sherlock would go to relieve this. He pulled away once more, no sense on reminiscing on the past, John found himself wondering through a park close to St. Barts.

_**~0~** _

John felt exhausted he'd spent the last 24 hours patching up the wounded all to be air lifted out, and in the middle of a massive firefight. He'd just returned to base washing his hands had proven difficult the amount of blood that stained them and clung to his short nails. He'd wanted to change to get out of these dirty clothes, they reeked of the dieing and the dead, of piss and rotting flesh, sweat and grit. He didn't think he'd ever be free of it.

"Watson!" the CO had called him to his tent, "You have orders to report back to Kandahar."

"Sir?" John stiffened remaining at attention his CO looked up from the communications reports.

"Is there something you didn't understand Lt Watson?"

"Sir, I m needed here. I don't understand have I done something-" The CO looked over the younger man, he was smaller than most but stocky and solid and damn he was going to miss the man.

Lt. Watson had saved so many and all while being shot at, not to mention he was willing to fight tooth and nail whether it be with a scalpel and sutures or a rifle, he fought to keep his patients alive. He needed more men like that, men with heart, fearless, loyal and no nonsense. Someone cool under fire and that was John Watson he was like a stone, and his example inspired others.

The CO had fought against the orders had sent communications back and forth over the last week trying to delay this relocation. He'd offered up another Doctor, but he'd lost. Finally receiving not only a very angry email but a stern phone call from his own superiors, superior. For some reason the British Government wanted Doctor John H Watson far from the front lines. A damn shame to lose the boy, could see him climbing the ranks to captain in another couple of months.

"You have your orders. Now be ready to depart in ten minutes dismissed."

Mycroft stood holding his umbrella he'd taken to sitting and then standing then pacing. He'd read over the many requests to belay the reassignment. Mycroft could see that young Doctor was a well loved a valuable soldier. He didn't understand the feeling of uncertainty as he waited in the office of his old family acquaintance General Robinson.

"Mycroft old friend, never seen you in this part of the country. How is your father? We haven't spoken in years."

" Father is doing well. He sends his regards. I apologize for the short notice.  I thought I'd check in on a friend of the family, a surprise visit really."

"Yes well I've had him called up for you. By the way, thank you for that bottle of scotch, we'll have to share a drink, before you depart. As for the young Lieutenant, he should be on his way. I looked over his service record so far, figures he would be one of yours. A career soldier just like myself. You Holmes know how to pick your friends." Mycroft knew the remark was meant as a compliment but nonetheless it caused him to stiffen. " Here is the young prodigy himself."

John saluted the General, feeling a little more than exhausted he'd fallen asleep in the helicopter, his body yearned for more rest. But that hadn't been the case as soon as his feet touched the ground they were ushering him down the white tiled floors, past several offices and cubicles to salute a General, being a military man John waited patiently for new orders and perhaps an explanation.

"Nice to finally meet you Doctor Watson. I had no idea we had mutual friends. Some how I thought you'd be taller." John kept his face expressionless but Mycroft whom hadn't been noticed yet took in the man, he caught the flicker of annoyance in those blue eyes. He was thinner, leaner, more toned, gone was the youthful grin and the dancing eyes devoid of cynicism. This was a different man, one who'd seen violence, stared death in the eye without blinking. Mycroft searched the mask of solemn patience.

"He's all yours Mycroft take as long as you wish." The General smiled kindly on the young man. "At ease." He patted John's shoulder easily and left the young doctor, he hadn't noticed the color drain from the exhausted soldiers tan face or the way the young soldier suddenly stiffened even more than what he had been at attention.

Mycroft was afraid to read the Doctor's face, the two stood looking upon each other and it was john to break the silence.

"What's happened? Is he-" Mycroft realized quickly the train of thought and the doctor had again surprised him. After all this time he still cared.

"John, take a seat. You look a bit worse for wear." John swallowed the lump in his throat. Why was Mycroft here? Had Sherlock not made it through Rehab had he died-John's brain ran through all possible complications accompanying long term drug abuse. He slumped down into the chair that the taller Holmes had offered.

"No John. He's been clean almost 1 year now. He's even managed to find himself a hobby to keep him busy. He's moved into a flat a tiny basement room in London." John shakily let out a sigh grateful his friend was alive. He tried to imagine the wild-eyed Sherlock having his own place.

"What's wrong then Mycroft, why are you here?" John ran his tired hands over an exhausted face. Mycroft could see he hadn't slept much, the front lines weren't pretty having seen the reports and the pictures.

"You had me reassigned didn't you?" realization dawning on him.

"John-I"

"Don't." Mycroft almost hadn't heard it. "Just don't." John cleared his throat. "You made yourself clear two years ago, as did Sherlock." Lt. Watson was standing now, "All I ask now Mycroft Holmes is to be left alone. Please don't try to interfere with my career. I've chosen my life. I don't know what you have to gain by pulling me here. But I wont have it, I had established respect and stability there I was making a difference. I don't care what your reasoning was. I think it's best we leave it at that. I'm sure since you so quickly got me reassigned you could be just as quick with changing the order. Goodbye Mycroft." John nodded sternly turning he left the speechless Government official behind.

Mycroft understood what John was saying the man knew what he wanted and Mycroft would not interfere. Besides hadn't he said John Watson was not blood he was not his bother. If this was true why did he feel as if he'd lost something dear to him. The years had changed John Watson, his boundless forgiveness gone.

John sank down onto the cot removing his shoes he tried to keep the rush of emotion locked down. Seeing Mycroft, and talking to him telling him to fuck off in a polite indifferent way. It was official Sherlock was fine, and John didn't have anyone anymore. Harry hadn't written in two years. And the letters he'd written to Sherlock the emails-he had hoped something was delaying the correspondence but he knew now by confirmation that Sherlock didn't want to talk to him. Mycroft no doubt had come all this way to tell him as much.

John had thought it would soften this blow if he beat the taller man to the punch, but John had been wrong. It hurt, he clasped his eyes shut and lying back on the stiff cot, he was a fool a sentimental fool. And though John was alone again, he still had purpose, the army supplied him with that. He would hold to the army, that's all he had. This thought he clutched to as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

_**~0~** _

It wasn't till the emails stopped that Sherlock gave into temptation and opened the last email sent. His eyes scanned over the first sentence and then flew over the IP address. The young dark haired consulting detective jumped up from his chair, his laptop toppled at his feet. He didnt take notice, he felt as if the room was closing in, he needed to see his brother.

In fact less than 20 minutes later he burst through his brother's office doors.

"Stop this! Bring him back." a demande needing no further explanation, and Mycroft knew the day would come and he'd feared it as well.

"Brother be rational." the older Holmes sat back in his black leather winged back chair.

"You knew didn't? You, you've known! How long?" Mycroft wouldn't lie it never worked with Sherlock.

"A year."

"A year!? He's been in 3 years now. There is a war going on."

"I am aware little brother."

"You did this." Sherlock accused, Mycroft shook his head he knew this was a possibility and this reaction wasn't unexpected.

"I can't."

"Can't or wont?" Sherlock's voice lost it's edge instead he sounded deflated, tired. Sherlock accepted the silence as wont.

"I hope you're happy dear brother you've finally taken everything I've ever loved and thoroughly smashed it. Isolated me."

"You will take responsibility Sherlock. What is this sudden change of heart? You were the one to tell him you didn't have friends. Well we shall leave it at that."

"He'll die. You know how he has that reckless urge to help those around him, that natural instinctive drive to rush forward. He won't stay back he wont stay out of it. He'll want to be on the front lines, **_he will die_**." Sherlock felt sick thinking of bullets flying around John, his friend, John. He remembered their last parting words, he read the last email it only ended "Goodbye Sherlock."

"It has been done Sherlock, he is already there. And I will not move to change his assignment, he is nothing of importance to me. Sentiment brother, it's a useless emotion." Mycroft didn't tell his brother he had tried but John wanted nothing to do with either of them. "I forbid any further contact. He has obviously made his feelings known on the subject or you would not be here. So brother I suggest you put it behind you and move on."

"You've finally got what you wanted. You wanted to prove that friendship has no advantages. That sentiment and emotion all of it is useless, you win brother you've finally won. And when he dies, because we both know it's a matter of time-" Mycroft couldn't let the younger man finish, his words were hitting their target so accurately.

"Look at you now little brother. You're actually going to stand there and accuse me? Was I the one who over dosed, who put the needle to your arm? Was I the one to turn his back on the only person willing to put up with my childish tantrums!? I will take part of the blame on this but you have to realize you aren't exactly blameless in this either. And don't be so over dramatic he's a soldier with the RAMC. It's not like he'll be shot tomorrow." Mycroft knew this was a lie, he knew damn well the conditions that the Doctor worked under. Knew he took the dangerous assignments, but there was no need to upset Sherlock further.

The younger Holmes brother felt as if Mycroft had struck him in the stomach, he'd actually have preferred physical pain to what his brother had just hurled at him. Speechless now, he left his brother standing in the office and made his way home in search of something harder than a cigarette to quiet his racing thoughts.

Lestrade was waiting for him when he got home, Mycroft must have anticipated what Sherlock had in mind.


	17. FLATMATE WANTED

 

  
**CHAPTER 17. FLATMATE WANTED**

"Sherlock? What brings you down to our humble lab?" Mike Stamford smiled easily. The tall thin dark haired man shot him a bored look.

"Research."

"Ah, yes. We do have a fresh cadaver in. I was just about to reserve one for a lesson I'm about to-"

"All that sounds painfully interesting but if you'll excuse me."

"You know I'm surprised you're here so often. With half the science equipment you've purchased in the last year or so-"

"Yes, not that its any of your business. I don't really have the room. My flat is rather small."

"Oh, time to maybe trade up. Get something bigger." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh I know London isn't a cheap place to live, but I bet you'd be able to get a bigger flat if you had a flatmate." Sherlock had thought of moving upstairs to 221B, he did need the added room for science equipment. He knew Mycroft would soon give him access to his trust, controlling bastard. He'd use that to cover his rent. The idea of a flatmate was novel really he couldn't help but snort.

"Who would have me for a flatmate?" Mike shrugged and the tall dark haired detective swept past the chubby man, lightly tapping his riding crop against his long leg.

"Oh, hello Mike." Molly smiled "Coffee?"

"Oh, you know what Molly it's a bit chilly out but still a nice day I think I'm going to go for a walk in the park and get myself some coffee anywhere but from the cafeteria. " The thin women smiled easily.

"That sounds lovely. I wish I had some free time, but the Yard has been bringing in bodies all hours. Just received another suicide, to bad really it's a young kid barely 18 what a waste."

"Shame. Yes."

"Well it was good seeing you Mike, I'll be sure to put aside one of the cadavers for your students."

"Thanks Molly." Mike was an easy going man, he had a lovely wife who just gave him a daughter, a beautiful girl they named Violet. He'd just received a pay increase, and his students this year were absolutely brilliant. He had his thoughts on coffee something anything better than the hospital tar they had in the cafeteria. That's when he thought he saw a familiar face, one he hadn't seen since med school.

"John? John Watson?"

John was walking through the park when someone called his name.

"John? John Watson?"

"It's me Mike Stamford." John examined the chubby man before him, hard to recognize the track athlete now.

"Mike? Sorry I didn't-"

"Yeah I know I got fat." John smiled stiffly, he wasn't in a socializing mood, but Mike was someone he'd always found hard to be impolite towards. So he agreed to get a cup of coffee with him and the two were now sitting in the park across from St. Barts.

"You could get a flatshare or something?"

"Come on look at me, who'd want me for a flatmate?" John frowned, when Mike giggled. "What?"

"Well you're the second person to say that to me." Mike smiled brightly.

John tried to still his shaking left hand, making a fist at his side, Mike was kind enough to pretend he didn't notice.

"Who was the first?" John found himself asking.

"Follow me, you should meet him, then you could tell me if you'd like an introduction. " John found it difficult to say no to Mike, after all he had spent a summer on the man's couch, as well as attending Barts up until he was deployed.

"He should still be in the lab. A remarkable fellow, sometimes consults for Scotland Yard, always busy with something. You might like him, although few people do."

"You're not really giving me much confidence." Mike chuckled again opening the door to the lab. John looked around at the new equipment.

"Bit different from my day." John ran a hand over one of the more expensive looking microscopes on the table in front of him. He noted a figure in a suit head down he was scribbling onto a piece of paper. John didn't think twice about him, instead he wondered why Mike had brought him on a tour of the hospital then to the lab. Surely this man in the expensive suit wasn't in need of a flatmate.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone there's no signal on mine." Came a familiar baritone voice. John clutched his cane now, his heart starting to pound in his chest. He tried to calm his anxiety not understanding why his damn PTSD decided to flare up. So what, the man in the expensive suit had a familiar voice, and a familiar set of dark curls.

"What's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry I left it in my coat."

"Oh, here. Use mine." John didn't understand what compelled him to offer this complete stranger his phone. Perhaps it was the urge to see the man's face, to be sure it wasn't the ghost from his past. Damn if his shoulder wasn't aching from the cold, he should have warn a Jumper under his jacket. He'd pay for it later, knowing full well that the uncomfortable pinch would move into a dull ache and finally a painful throbbing.

Sherlock hadn't looked up at the man that followed Mike in until he offered the use of his mobile. The consulting detective froze instantly recognizing the shorter man, his mind was running like a bullet train and Sherlock was trying to keep up, confused by the surge of emotions threatening to rob him of his speech permanently.

"This is an old friend of mine-" Mike started to introduce the shorter man but Sherlock was taking the offered phone, John's face was bit pale, and he was far too thin.

"John Watson." Sherlock stated.

Mike smiled wider.

"Oh, so you already know each other well this is a surprise."

"Coffee." Molly entered now handing Sherlock a warm mug then taking her leave.

"Yes. Small world." John realized that the taller man had taken his offered phone and shot a quick text, handing it back. The ex soldier could see that his friend had grown into his cheekbones, and although thin he wasn't as thin and fragile as he'd looked five years ago. No trace of drug addiction in his mannerisms, so he had managed to stay clean.

Mike sensing the tension smiled easily "Well I've got to run, I'll leave you to it. What a coincidence Sherlock, here you were talking about needing a flatmate and John here is in need of a flatshare. Excellent timing I should say."

Neither man moved or spoke, they hadn't even taken notice that the larger man had left. John felt the urge to escape, to flee. Why had he followed Mike, how cruel that he was brought here? Already feeling like a wounded pathetic animal, what would his ex friend think of him? No doubt Sherlock was taking in the broken shell of a man and finding the ammunition to tear John down. John didn't think he could survive that not right now at least.


	18. A PIRATE'S REDEMPTION

**CHAPTER 18. A PIRATES REDEMPTION  
**

Sherlock didn't understand the sudden feeling that the room was incredibly too small. He'd never noticed the exact square footage of the room, but he would check into that later. Instead his eyes refused to blink, refused to look away from the shorter blond man in front of him.

John looked thin, too thin even by Sherlock's standards, the extra age lines and a deeper crease in his friends forehead all made John Watson look older than he truly was. Even his eyes had changed; something was missing, the usual warmth and light, gone.

The dark haired detective noted the strained expression; his friend-no John wasn't his friend anymore. His ex friend was in pain, but the limp was defiantly psychosomatic, something else, his shoulder perhaps. The cold weather could be affecting him, that kind of injury he sustained wasn't one that would heal quickly. Maybe he hadn't eaten, the caffeine from the coffee he had while sitting with Mike in the park wouldn't of helped. Sherlock frowned, why did he care? Why should he waste precious energy on these kinds of pointless thoughts. John wasn't his friend anymore, he'd made it clear that things would never be the same. Sherlock should just take his leave and be done with John Watson. Yes he'd do just that.

John broke the silence first, he needed to go and quick, to get away before the coffee he'd had came back up. "I'm sorry." John clasped his eyes shut, cursing his fumbling for words. He would say this, he wouldn't be a coward. Sherlock flinched confused, but the injured soldier continued on, keeping to his resolve.

"I-I didn't know Mike was referring to you. I wouldn't have even bothered to come had I known. I understand I'm the last person you'd want to see. I got your point the first time. I just-just want you to know that I'm not stalking you in any way. I-I honestly was-uh. Anyway, I would have never guessed you still lived in London. Well I shouldn't have thought otherwise, this is your city, I-I just got back home a few months ago. " John was babbling, but at least his voice was steady, his military training gave him that, and his back was stiff, shoulders straight. Still he sounded like a blabbering fool. Better make an exit Watson before he cuts you down.

Sherlock felt confused; there was no deception in his friend, none, why was he acting as though this was the first time the consulting detective was learning of his presence in London? John's posture was tense as if he was waiting for Sherlock to lash out, interesting.

"John-"

"No. I'm going. I-you don't have to say anything. It's fine. It's all fine. It was good to see you." John turned to leave attempting to save some of his pride. How pathetic could he look, with a cane and a stammer, his friend-because John would always think of Sherlock as a friend, his friend looked good. Healthy, a bit on the thin side but Sherlock had always been a finicky eater.

Sherlock could hear the embarrassment in his friend's voice, but it wasn't until John said _"it was good to see you"_ that the dark haired detective snapped out of his sudden paralysis. That statement he'd heard many times over, repeated by blabbering fools trying to make polite conversation, that's all those words had ever been to him, empty words.

But the warmth-the familiar honesty in that statement all of it just like John, well the old John. For a minute Sherlock found a bit of his old friend in the shell standing before him.

So many emotions, but it was sincerity, he heard it in John's tone this is what gave Sherlock the courage to stop his friend to talk to say anything.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Oh, uh Afghanistan." John stilled, his eyes still not daring to venture over to the taller man, John shifted his weight over to his good leg.

When did they release you from the hospital?" It came out before Sherlock could find anything better to say. Of course he'd known about John's release, he'd hacked into the Hospital database, they should really try to put up some kind of firewall, really a child could get past it.

"How did you know I- How did you know I was in the hospital?" Sherlock frowned and John sighed heavily glaring at his own cane.

"Oh right the cane is a dead give away. Uh, I was released about a month or so ago." He coughed clearing his throat forcing a tight smile.

Sherlock felt like that boy with the pirate sword hacking into the tree, but instead he was holding a riding crop used to beat a cadaver. It all was the same uncomfortable awkwardness. He could easily deduce the urge in his old friend to flee, but at the same time Sherlock didn't want him to go.

"Are you staying with Harry?"

John chuckled before answering.

"No, you know we never uh, got along to well. And she's sobered up since my-since I came home. She even stayed a few days at the hospital with me but you know how she feels about Hospitals."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. So the harpy hadn't even stayed-and by the way John shrugged she hadn't even bothered to visit. Probably gave John the mobile out of guilt, the loathsome witch couldn't even stay with her brother, no doubt due to the fact she couldn't manage more then a day without her precious vodka-disgusting. If Sherlock had known John was alone, he would have stayed, and from the way his friend was talking he didn't know about Sherlock and Mycroft's visit. Harry Watson was owed a few harsh words.

Still this was Sherlock's chance, and he would take it, he wouldn't let go. Not this time, pride be damned.

"How's Mycroft? I haven't seen him in three years." John missed the the dark expression that passed over his friends normally devoid face.

"Three years?"

"Yes, well you know. When he came to see me. I should apologize I was very rude, it was definitely uncalled for." John bit the inside of his cheek not meeting his friends gray eyes.

"Oh, John you know Mycroft. He'll live. We both know he doesn't have feelings to hurt. And I'm sure he deserved whatever you said."

"Maybe. I never let him actually tell me why he was there. I thought maybe he had come to warn me off, especially since he tried to have me reassigned, I never know what your brother's intentions really are sometimes, he's a complex creature."

Sherlock didn't know what to say to this, Mycroft had tried then, why didn't he tell him, Mycroft let Sherlock believe that he wouldn't try. But in truth Mycroft must have anticipated Sherlock's reaction, as was his annoying talent, ever since Sherlock could crawl. Mycroft took the initiative, he went before Sherlock had asked, he tried and failed.

The younger Holmes decided to file these emotions away to be studied at another time. A time where he was alone to contemplate the confusing stir of sentiment that attached themselves to this revelation.

"Well John you know Mycroft. He's actually become quite a dangerous man, he's practically the British Government. I know much has occurred since your absence from England. Mycroft's ego has grown almost as much as his belly. And as far as his health, I'm sure you wont be surprised to know he is failing at his diet as usual." John couldn't help but smile.

Sherlock felt his own heart pound faster, he produced a genuine grin, and the dulled blue eyes of the wounded soldier lit up.

"Hungry?" Sherlock didn't wait for a reply instead he held open the lab door and allowed the man to shuffle out. Best to save them both from further awkwardness.

"Well-"

"Good I know the best Italian restaurant near my flat, they make a prize winning Risotto."

Sherlock started down the hall and John found himself trying to pick up the pace just to keep up.


	19. 221B

 

**CHAPTER 19. 221B**

Martha Hudson had suspected Sherlock would take her up on the offer for the flat upstairs. She of course would give him whatever discount he wished, he already paid too much for the small basement flat. But when _her_ Sherlock announced he may just have found a flatmate she was a little hesitant as well as surprised.

"Now Sherlock" she'd started hands on her hips. "I wont have any questionable associates or derelicts taking up housing here. I wont allow you to be taken advantage of. You already do so much for that Detective fellow, and without pay. They should have a little more respect, I say. You are too kind to the lot. Any how who you have here is your business but I'll tell you now young man, no squatters-"

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm wounded. You know as much as I, I am too smart to share a space with such miscreants."

"Then who is this mystery-OH! Is it a woman? Have you found yourself a nice girl?" She clapped her hands together excitedly. The dark haired young man scrunched his face in denial.

"Mrs. Hudson I've already stated clearly that is not my area. Besides I'm married to my work. As for the possible flatmate, it's an old friend from UNI."

"Friend?" he was putting his scarf on, a smile playing across his cupid bow lips, those beautiful gray eyes staring off at something past the window.

"Yes. Friend I think. Never mind that, he shall be arriving tomorrow around two please show him the rooms if I'm not here yet."

"Fine. And what is the name of this " ** _friend"_**?"

"Doctor John Watson."

"Oh!" her eyes lit up again. "Your fella! So you've made up then! Well I shall make scones for the occasion."

"Yes, yes go." Sherlock already stopped listening he was taking his leave he had some supplies to pick up.

And this is what had Martha Hudson so busy in the kitchen part of the next morning. She would be delighted at the astonished look on Mrs. Turner's face from next door. Mrs. Turner was always bragging about the married ones she had living in her downstairs flat.

_"Evan is a barista at a corner café, makes the best mocha's for me when I feel down. And Charles works as a bank teller. Very respectable those two. I hope they'll have a child someday it would be nice. What does yours do? Poor man, he lives alone doesn't he? Well a bit weird that boy if you ask me, the hours he keeps and the people he associates with. Ghastly, I sometimes expect to hear that you've been murdered in your sleep."_

This was Martha's cue to depart before she made Mrs. Turner eat her dentures, and by the way someone should tell her that- that ridiculous red wig, isnt at all flattering .

Really the nerve, no one spoke about _her_ Sherlock that way, he was a good boy, and he helped the Yard. A brave man, smart as a whip, and the people who knocked were clients looking for help and Sherlock never turned them away. Or asked for money-well some he did turn out but only the boring cases. She smiled to herself now arranging the scones. The day he showed up on her doorstep-that day changed her life and she'd never regret it, any of it.

Sure he could be blunt and his words often stinging, but she was no shrinking violet. She might look weak but her backbone was strong although her hip wasn't as sturdy as it used to be, she could hold her own.

Sherlock often apologized if he said something particularly cruel, well the words _"I'm sorry"_ never spoken but he often found a way to make things right. And he was so talented with his violin, oh when she had her hip surgery he'd played the most beautiful piece, she later learned he'd written it just for her. He'd called it Bonne Nuit Maman.( Good night Mother) A lovely boy, a mother couldn't ask for more. Of course George her husband never wanted children and she was glad they hadn't any.

She didn't like to think of the monster she married, that had gone all wrong, but she was free of him and Sherlock that young man with the lost gray eyes had helped free her, asking for no payment, he saved her. And when she heard he needed a place she didn't care what people like Mrs. Turner would say, he could be eccentric but isnt everyone in their own way. The hard knock at the door brought her out of her musings.

She smiled brightly when standing on her stoop was in fact the young man from the picture.

He leaned heavily on a silver cane, but she didn't give it more than a fleeting glance. It was impolite to stare, besides he had such a handsome face, and the manners. He'd introduced himself and shook her hand gently but firmly. Yes, this Doctor was perfect for her boy.

"Why hello there dear. Come in, come in. You must be John, Sherlock mentioned you'd be stopping by."

"Oh, is he not home? I can come back-"

"No, no. I wouldn't let you, come in dear. I'll show you to his flat." And of course he was more than willing to comply, poor dear so young to be saddled with an old man's limp. Well Sherlock did say he was on the mend hopefully he would be well again in no time.

"I see he hasn't changed at all." John looked around the room with a grin.

"Oh that's right! You went to UNI with him. He did mention that you two were friends."

'He did?" John accepted the tea the older woman handed him. This woman's mannerisms reminded him of Sherlock's mother. Just a little in the way she spoke about the younger man, and her eyes were the same color, her fragile appearance, unlike Mrs. Holmes John could see that Mrs. Hudson may look fragile but in fact was made of sturdier stuff. The Doctor in him noted her distribution of weight she moved a little stiffly, her hip either was replaced or was in need of it. The stairs couldn't be too good on that. He wondered if she'd been prescribed anything for it, he knew it would worsen in the colder weather.

"Yes, he said he had an old friend from UNI stopping in. I recognized you from the picture." She smiled.

"Sherlock has a picture?"

"Yes of course dear a service picture, I'll say men in uniform are quite handsome, I'm sure he agrees." John tried not to choke on his tea when the older woman winked at him. He thought over her other words now, pushing his embarrassment away. Sherlock had said friend, and Sherlock never wasted words, he valued cold hard truths and was always so blunt. Could he hope-it was too much to think his friend would be willing to put the past behind them. And how about Mycroft , the older Holmes had gone all the way to Afghanistan to frighten him off, imagine what he would do if he found out John was actually talking to Sherlock instead of sending unanswered emails. Not that he ever stopped John before.

"You must have some interesting tales to tell-I bet he was wild at UNI. Such a handsome boy did he have many girlfriends? Or you know-" John once more almost choked on his tea. From experience he knew it was no use to deny a relationship everyone always assumed the two were a couple. And he'd learned to just let them think what they wanted.

"Oh, he wasn't so bad at university but you should have seen him at six." John watched interest spark in the older woman's hazel eyes. She took a seat now, offering him freshly baked scones and they smelled delicious, his stomach growled reminding him he hadn't eaten yet today, he gave himself a mental pat on the back, good subject change Watson.

"You knew him as a child?" John nodded his grin widening.

"Yes. I met him on my way to the library-did you know he wanted to be a pirate when he grew up?"

This is how Sherlock found the two laughing easily over a cup of hot tea. John looked comfortable in the chair with the union jack pillow, no not comfortable he looked as if he belonged here and Sherlock was determined to keep him there.

"John, Mrs. Hudson I see you've met."

"Yes, dear I was only keeping your friend company until you returned. Sherlock-the mess you've made. Not at all proper for visitors." She stood pouring him some tea he took her spot in his chair. "Here now, I best get back downstairs. I promised Mrs. Turner I'd stop in for some tea. Nice meeting you Doctor Watson."

"Please, call me John." The Doctor offered.

She patted Sherlock's shoulder "Alright then John it is. Now Sherlock dear, don't run this one off just yet. He's polite, perhaps he'll rub off on you."

"Goodbye Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock waved her off. "So, John what do you think?" he gestured to the flat.

"It's nice. Really nice."

"Good, it's settled. When can you move in?"


	20. ENCOUNTERS

 

 

**CHAPTER 20. ENCOUNTERS**

Greg Lestrade, had known Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective, young genius ex addict and royal pain in the ass for five years now. Five years, and in that time he learned just a handful of things, almost immediately the first being, the man was a bloody genius and  the conceded bastard was more than aware of it.

Lestrade also knew that Mycroft Holmes was not one to be trifled with, and the less contact he had with the man the better. It gave him chills just thinking about having to deal with the older Holmes. Greg had put up with Sherlock's insults, his impolite observations about Lestrade's marriage and the personal lives of all those Greg worked with, the stealing of evidence, the harassing of witness' and alleged victims, the text messages in the middle of the night calling for back up, or naming the identity of the murderer.

He'd even put up with the damned sticky fingered sociopath pinching his ID badges and when Lestrade had been a smoker, the bastard would steal the DI's cigarettes as well. All these things he knew about Sherlock Holmes all of it impersonal information, superficial at the very least.

It wasn't as if Greg didn't care about the man, in reality he'd come to respect the git, but he also didn't fool himself into believe that the friendship or respect was two sided. He could deal with that, he wasn't some school girl with a crush. Greg wasn't even sure Sherlock knew his first name, if he did he never used it in the time they'd been acquainted. Sherlock wasn't like most people he wasn't sentimental or emotional unless it was about a case.

Well the one exception was Mrs. Hudson landlady the Landlady, he'd only ever known Sherlock to embrace the elderly woman and flash an appreciative smile in her direction. Lestrade never asked but he assumed she'd known the younger man a lot longer than he, often he found himself wondering just how the two met.

Sherlock was difficult on his good days, poor Mrs. Hudson had the sociopath living as a tenant downstairs and now he'd moved to her upstairs apartment. How could she have put up with him all these years, without going mad?

These were the thoughts running through Greg's head as he tried to figure out who the hell the newcomer was. He'd watched perplexed as the shorter blond man leaned into a cane his limp very evident, that was the only real noteworthy thing about the seemingly ordinary man. That was it, ordinary, and he managed to keep up one stride behind the tall long legged Sherlock. Who could he be, and why was he here? This wasn't a tourist attraction and Lestrade was already going out on a limb calling the consulting detective in.

When Greg demanded to know who the other man was the only reply from Sherlock was "He's with me." As if that was all the explanation the DI needed, but god help him he would let the other man accompany Sherlock. Some battles weren't worth fighting, but at least the shorter man had waited politely for Lestrade's approval to follow Sherlock into the room where the murdered victim was.

The silver haired DI stood back, allowing the two men to inspect the body of the female victim clad in a horrible pink, definitely not German.

"Poison" the blond man frowned, and Sherlock was on his feet firing off observations. Lestrade tried to catch them out of the air just as fast as they came but like usual he lost all hope at deciphering the language that was uniquely Sherlock. Before he could ask for a layman's version of what was said, the man with the limp and cane beat him to it.

John, that's what Sherlock called the man, and Doctor Watson. So John Watson was a Doctor, but what the hell was he doing here and with Sherlock? Something about their relaxed body language and the peculiar way in which the genius detective started to explain slower and in detail without the usual bite of irritation or sharp insults.

Lestrade observed curiously, they weren't lovers, Sherlock wasn't at all interested in anything that wasn't a crime. The Doctor didn't look the type to be interested in that sort of thing, so who was he? He carried no family resemblance so he wasn't a relative, god help the world if there were more than two. To make things even more off, Sherlock Holmes was showing patience for the Doctor's questions. Lestrade couldn't help but stand with open mouthed shock.

Looking over the Doctor again, Greg saw nothing seemingly out of the ordinary, in fact the Doctor or John appeared to be ordinary in every way. From his haircut to the checkered shirt he wore.

Then the whirlwind that was Sherlock was demanding a suitcase and just like that Lestrade was left staring at the open door, Sherlock was practically skipping down the stairs. The Doctor followed slowly, and to no surprise of Lestrade's the Detective left his friend, no Sherlock didn't have friends, he left his, Associate? behind.

Should he mention something to the older Holmes? Watching the Doctor makes slow progress down the spiraling stairs, he thought against it, poor man didn't need the scare, he was thin and looked as if he'd just got over a recent illness. No need to send him back into the hospital or have a hand in his disappearance. Nope, Lestrade had a crime to solve, he'd investigate this Doctor John Watson later.

**~0~**

John managed to make it out of the building onto the street, his leg pained him not used to so much activity, but he didn't mind. It felt good to be out, although a crime scene wasn't top on his list of ideal outings.

The soreness of his leg, and the cold bite of the London night air was worth the chance of seeing Sherlock excited, and practically skipping. For a moment he could see the small curly haired six year old he'd once met on the way to the library.

Having been Sherlock's friend for so long being left behind didn't bother him. He knew that sooner or later his friend would realize that he'd forgotten someone, by then John planned on being back at their flat. He liked the sound of that. _**"our flat".**_ He'd just moved in and already it felt like old times, the same messes and clutter, though the body parts in the fridge was a new addition to things that made Sherlock an interesting flatmate. At least at UNI Sherlock hadn't the access to body parts. Thumbs next to the carrots would definitely take some getting used to.

"You're not his friend." Sally Donovan jumped at the chance of getting to talk to the man that accompanied the freak.

"Excuse me?" John walked under the lifted crime scene tape, the woman holding it had been the rude one that attempted to verbally spar with his flatmate earlier. Something John watched straight faced, knowing from the years of Uni and summer holidays that when someone tried to be condescending to Sherlock it never worked out in their favor.

Out of respect he never fought his friend's battles, knowing how the younger man hated feeling as if someone needed to take care of him, he was an adult, although this never stopped John from stepping in to take a fist to the face or gut, all in the name of friendship of course.

So this frizzy haired Sergeant was actually going to trash talk **HIS** friend, this should be interesting.

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends, you've met him. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

"But you're not. Are you?" John couldn't help it. "Since we are throwing unwanted advice around Sergeant Donovan-" The army Captain in John Watson surfaced now his shoulders straightened and back stiffened. The Captain met the surprised woman's brown eyes with a cold glare.

"Here's some for you. Sherlock is a genius." She snorted but John continued on, holding her brown eyes with an intense stare. "Maybe you wouldn't have your pride hurt and every flaw advertised to your coworkers if you were a bit more professional and less scathing to a man who is attempting to help you find a murderer. Jealousy isn't very becoming Sergeant. In fact it's a little sad."

"I'm not jealous!" She fumed crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh?" John flashed a lopsided smile, eyes full of doubt.

"Who do you think you are?"

"His friend." John replied and using a clipped tone that signaled the end of this particular conversation he asked. "Now if you could direct me to the street, I need to catch a cab." She turned on her ridiculous black heels without a word John shrugged and headed in a direction hoping it lead to a main street, a smile still teasing the edge of his lips.

He passed a ringing phone in a telephone booth. Then while holding a hand out for a cab, he heard a phone ringing in the restaurant behind him but when the waiter moved to answer it the ringing stopped. John glanced away from the window and tried to refocus on finding a cab,maybe it was his stature because several passed him by, his unimpressive height no doubt making him invisible. It's not like he was a tall, mysterious dark haired detective in a long coat.

He moved further down the street leaning on the cane hating having to lug it around, this cane was bothersome. He wondered if a day would come and the cane would no longer be needed. Another phone's ringing caught his attention this time from the phone booth.

OK not coincidence. So, he answered it.

"Hello Doctor Watson, please get in the car." And on cue a black car pulled up to the curb. He sighed looking out at a cctv camera that moved suspiciously in his direction, then across from that one another moved to focus on him.

The line went dead and John new that this was coming, he hung up the phone and made his way slowly into the black car. Hoping that Mycroft wasn't going to disappear him. John Watson didn't look forward to this meeting at all. But it couldn't be helped, it must be done, might as well get it over with. He contemplated texting Sherlock goodbye, but decided against it.

"Doctor Watson." A young brunette woman didn't look up from her blackberry she continued to text. Yeah, she would be one to work for Mycroft, John only greeted her casually.

"Any chance you can tell me where we are headed?"

"No." she replied in an uninterested tone.

"Do you have a name?" he sighed.

"Anthea." She gave a false smile, leaning into the leather seat John wondered if this was it, at least he'd get to go seeing a pretty face. A pretty but uninterested face, oh well.

"That's not really your name is it?" The woman didn't look up,

"Uh, no." she smiled politely.

"Thought so."


	21. LAST WORDS

 

**CHAPTER 21. LAST WORDS  
**

Mycroft considered the detailed information meticulously collected and then just as quickly reported to him by his top agents. From that intel he deduced Harriet Watson had lied to his brother. No surprise.

John it would seem had no knowledge that either man had come to visit him while he was recovering from surgery. Harriet Watson didn't have the strength in character to be anything but vindictive.

How her drinking hadn't yet affected her job was beyond Mycroft, but it gave new meaning to the term functioning alcoholic. Although reports did show she had been clean since John's return. Mycroft snorted to himself, wondering how long that would last. Her concern for John always carried so far before her own selfishness took over.

He could remember their first encounter all those years ago. When he'd gone up to find his brothers absent friend. After sending John to the car Mycroft had gone into the small living room where the telly was switched on, blaring some ghastly ear assaulting noise that some called music. So he switched it off.

"Hey! I was watching that! What the hell do you think you're doing?" The teenage girl was on her feet now, nearly falling over the empty beer bottles and cans littering the area around the tattered couch.

"A word Miss. Watson. I just wanted your attention. And now that I have it"

"Fuck off." She held the remote in her hand pointing it at the screen. Mycroft rolled his eyes of course she wouldn't be reasonable, why would she?

Harry tried the power button and when the telly didn't switch on she shook the thing, still trying to ignore the taller teenager. "Stupid batteries!" then she crossed her arms over her chest sitting back onto the couch defeated. Mycroft observed the bare arms, as she was wearing a plain black tank top with the white skull of some popular rock band, and of course the jeans she wore he couldn't tell if it was for fashion or because she couldn't afford a new pair.

"What the hell you looking at huh? Like what you see your majesty?" she sneered reaching for an open can on the floor next to her booted feet. "Cause I am not interested, not my type." She took a swig, and Mycroft counted to ten before continuing.

"Miss. Watson, am I correct to assume your father is incarcerated."

"Yeah, what of it? He'll be in the clink till the end of summer."

"I see you survived the little ordeal unscathed." Mycroft glanced again at her unbruised arms then her untouched face.

"I wasn't home. And even if I was-Johnny shouldn't have –"

"Right." Mycroft cut her off, not wishing to be in the presence of such a selfish child. "So you can get back to your uh-leisure time I'll keep it short. This is what is going to happen. John has been invited by my mother and brother to spend Holiday at the beach. He'll be gone a few weeks." Mycroft had originally planed on a week but something in him wanted to extend the time.

"Fine by me. I don't need the little bastard around here dumping out my bottles. Annoying little-"

"Well it's settled then do you wish to say goodbye?" she scrunched up her face.

"What for?" She rolled her eyes. "We done here?"

"Clearly." Mycroft replied. He started to leave "Don't forget his horrible brown hoodie, takes it everywhere." She went to the hall closet and pulled out a boys baggy hoodied sweatshirt. Mycroft tried not to make a face when she handed it to him, well at least it was clean. "You think your better than us dont you?" Mycroft didnt answer. " Fine maybe you are. Johnny might be too dense to see through this little act, I know you're just looking for some way to bribe someone to keep that curly haired little twerp brother of yours out of trouble. John's good at that. Always taking on the lost causes." She giggled as if she'd delivered some verbal blow.

"Oh is that why he elects to stay home and care for his alcoholic father and a sister who finds a pathetic means of escape through drinking and promiscuity?"

"Fuck off." She growled then another thought seemed to come to her as if it just occurred to her "You know if you call child services they'll only dump him off somewhere and then where will your little brother be? Johnny is small, he wouldnt last a day in one of those boys homes. Besides, our dad just needs to get himself in a program that works for him. He wasnt always this way. You know how it is. You've got one too, a little brother, always underfoot-he never learns to just keep his head down. Just think what a state home would do to him, he'd never survive. So whatever do gooder intentions you may have, don't bother. Dad will spend the time drying out. Besides nothing broken."

"This time." Mycroft hissed "And what could your brother possibly have done to warrant such punishment."

"Look.You dont know us. Our father was fine and then he went to war and he came back changed. Johnny just forgets sometimes. Or he tries to play hero and dumps the old mans booze. Or throws his car keys out into the middle of the field. The kid has a death wish. It's none of your concern anyway. Like I said before, you're just looking for a free babysitter. I get it. Keeps him out of my hair too, but dont come in here pretending you care. He doesnt need you or your brother he's got me. Just make sure you bring him back in one piece." Mycroft shook his head in disbelief this female was indeed a piece of work, her twisted logic gave him a headache.

"Well Miss. Watson I'll have our chauffeur come around to pick up an overnight bag if you can so kindly pack whatever you think your brother would need."

"I ll leave it on the porch I have things to do today and I'll be gone in an hour."

"Your priorities are heartwarming." Mycroft stated coolly.

"Fuck you!" she bristled, following him towards the door angrily.

"It's fine Miss. Watson I can see myself out." Harriett Watson held open the door and was sure to slam it behind the expressionless teenager in the gray suit.

Now Mycroft Holmes, older brother and Government Employee as well as freelance adviser, felt out of his depth. For the second time in his life he debated on just leaving, but the car was already pulling up. Time to face the firing squad as they say. **  
**

John climbed out of the expensive government car, his stomach knotted as the the last encounters with Mycroft Holmes played over and over in his head.

Of course, he sighed, he would be brought to an abandoned warehouse. Mycroft did love his dramatics as much as Sherlock.

"Doctor Watson." He greeted John with his usual air of haughty authority the one John had always found annoying. The tall man had in fact lost weight since their last meeting, he wore a posh gray suit, leaning on his blasted umbrella.

"Mycroft, you know you could have called me on my phone." John approached the Government man noting the empty chair in front of him.

"Would you have answered?" John frowned by the unexpected tone, was it imagined did Mycroft sound amused. That wasn't good, Mycroft must already have a plan in store for John, he just hoped it was quick and painless. "John, please sit." Mycroft gestured for the chair sitting in the middle of the near empty room.

"Thanks, I'll stand if it's all the same."

"Still stubborn." The taller man sighed tapping his umbrella against his expensive leather shoes.

"Still above the dramatics I can see." John's tone was light, and Mycroft almost felt somewhat at ease.

The silence between them hung with tension, made worse by the fact that both men refused to allow their eyes to meet.

John gripped his cane, feeling Mycroft's intense scrutiny fall over him, head to toe, and shame nearly suffocated the ex soldier. Knowing that the Holmes brothers could see through him, see the shattered pieces of the man he once was, and to his greatest humiliation Mycroft and Sherlock no doubt had figured the limp was psychosomatic. John wouldn't meet the intense gray eyes, he couldn't stand to read pity or the rejection he anticipated. Instead ex soldier figured he may as well get it over with, and as usual he spoke first.

"Mycroft, I'm sorry." And then in his mind; _Please don't make me leave him._

John knew he couldn't let go of Sherlock again, he felt like a man tumbling out of control down a mountain and when Sherlock met with him, it was a small hand hold, that kept him from truly falling into the nothing. Slowly he found he was pulling himself up, if Mycroft told John to go-he didn't know what he'd do. But John would respect the wishes of the older Holmes, it wasn't his nature to cause others problems, he would never wish to be a cause of a rift between the two brothers.

"For what it's worth that is. I'm sorry. I hope we can put the past firmly behind us and start over."

Mycroft should have expected this after all the Doctor was indeed a forgiving young man always had been, still it surprised the British Government.

Once more he reminded himself , John Watson wasn't an ordinary man by any means. And standing there looking down at the Doctor, who kept his eyes down, focusing on his cane, Mycroft could only see that blond kid from that first summer. The one where Sherlock would have surely brought the house down had he not been reunited with his assistant.

"I see you've moved in with my brother, and now you're going to crime scenes with him. Should I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" This drew a laugh from the shorter man. "Do you plan on sticking around this time Captain John Watson?" John frowned his head coming up. "I'm willing to increase your income-"

"What? Why?"

"Because you re not a wealthy man."

"In return for?" John was experiencing déjà vu.

"Oh nothing you should feel uncomfortable with. Just an exchange of information. Compensation if you will, for having to be around my brother."

"So" John felt a grin start to tease the sides of his own lips. "What your saying is you want to pay me to hang out with Sherlock?"

"Well-"

"No." John sighed. Yes, same old Mycroft.

"I haven't named a price."

"You don't have to. The answer is still no."

"Yes still stubborn, still willing to trust my brother. " John's mobile pinged alerting him of an incoming text. "And of course that would be my brother. Impatient as always." John smiled reading the message.

"Yes well it's good to see some things will never change."

"Dr. Watson." Mycroft cleared his throat. "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong Mycroft but I don't think that's any of your business." Mycroft held back a grin only arching his eyebrow.

"I see you're still worrying about him."

"Constantly."

"We've been through this before Mycroft. I suppose we can skip to the end. Are we done then?" John released the breath he was holding. Mentally crossing his fingers that this was all.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from my brother."

Great no such luck. John took another deep breath.

"Is that what this is?" Sky blue eyes searched gray, those icy blue gray eyes bore into him now.

"John. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield, you already see it. His new career choice although unique, it's extremely dangerous. He isn't playing on garden walls and starting dorms on fire. You do understand if you get involved with my brother you will most certainly be drawn into his work."

"As a side kick?" John held back a laugh, Mycroft couldn't be serious. Was he?

"An **_assistant_** is the term I believe he'll most likely use. Don't be juvenile John." there was the Mycroft John remembered. The bored tone of voice and the look of irritation.

"If he needs my help I'm there for him. I doubt he'll want to wait on a limping ex soldier though. I cant keep up like I used to."

" You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. " John self consciously made a fist, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He didn't want to know how Mycroft knew that, or what else the British Government knew.

"Well there you go."

Mycroft ignored the irritable retort, continuing as if John hadn't said anything.

"Your therapist should be fired John. She doesn't know you. You'll see soon enough, once your shoulder is completely healed my brother will be dragging you along willing or not, if he hasn't already. "

"I doubt that." John shook his head a forced grin now, he wasn't any use to anyone. Sherlock had a life, John just felt blessed to be able to observe the excitement no way he'd ever get to be apart of that.

"I see you doubt me. Just consider this Doctor Watson, you aren't haunted by the war, you miss it. "

The good Doctor only shrugged biting the inside of his cheek he tried to think about what Mycroft Holmes was saying. Why did it make more sense than what his damned therapist had been trying to make him believe?

All that aside, was this really what Mycroft brought him here for, could there be more? Surely he didn't just want a chat, last time the two met-well John wanted to forget all that. He straightened his shoulders and faced forward at attention, sensing there was more to be said by the British Government, and he would at least this time give him the courtesy of hearing him out. No matter how painful, John would listen.

Mycroft wanted to apologize; as much as he hated the words _I was wrong._ He wasn't a man above admitting his error and then moving past it. Still the British Government tried to find the words, and he could tell his hesitation caused the younger man to tense as if expecting stipulations or some kind of warning, so this gave him ample opportunity to do both.

"John, try to keep yourselves out of trouble. I hope my brother wont be too much of a bad influence. Bravery John is another word for stupidity, do remember that before barreling into any situation without thinking. Welcome back." Mycroft turned on his heel leaving John to stand and stare after him, baffled, he glanced down at his hand it wasn't shaking now, come to think of it, it had been steady these last few days.

"I wont ask you to choose a side Doctor Watson. I already know that answer." his words echoed through the empty building, leaving a very confused John Watson. Was that really all? Did Mycroft actually sound relieved that he was moving in with Sherlock? Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad a year after all.


	22. DROWNING

 

**CHAPTER 22. DROWNING**

Sherlock put the beaker of bleach down on the edge of the table, he could hear John's bed creak and muffled gasps of a man gulping down air as if he'd just been rescued from drowning. Except he hadn't, he was still drowning and the consulting detective had no idea how to save his friend.

Then came John's staggered steps to the bathroom upstairs across from the doctor's room, and the sound of coughing echoed down the stairs, even from behind that closed door. So the nightmare this time had been bad enough to make the ex army Doctor sick.

Sherlock had made the mistake of asking John about the things that haunt him in his sleep. Only to see his friend completely close him out, Sherlock wasn't very tactful when it came to social cues but by John's body language and quick generic answer _"It's nothing. I'm fine. Sorry if I kept you up."_ which dripped with an unspoken _'This conversation is over.'_ he decided against asking again.

Still after the Hope case or rather as some referred to it so "tastefully" as the _Killer Cabbie_ case. Sherlock assumed that John's night terrors if at all associated with that predicament would have finally ebbed. Unfortunately, it had been two weeks and almost every night it was the same. John really needed his sleep and Sherlock hated the interruption to his own concentration.

Yes, that was the reason behind his sudden exasperation and interest with John's nightly going ons. Not the fact that hearing his friend's muffled cries or sobs in the middle of the night were unsettling. This was not at all the reason, Sherlock didn't have those kinds of sentimental feelings or emotions. Still-

"Tea?" John yawned passing Sherlock who had been sitting staring off blankly, so lost in thought he hadn't heard John descend the steps. Turning to his friend who started to fill the kettle with water, his hands shaking enough to cause him to nearly drop the two mugs he pulled down from the cupboard.

"Oh, yes thank you." Sherlock turned back to his experiment trying to ignore his friend's unsteady movements.

What new monsters chased his friend now? What could be the scenes that painted the good Doctor's nightmares? The consulting Detective ignored the mug of hot tea set by unsteady hands heavily upon the end of the kitchen table. Some of the liquid splashing out over the edge of the brown mug, then John shuffled to his usual chair near the fire place. Yes, shuffled, because that damn mystery limp always announced itself on nights like these, in his friends movement. This frustrated the detective for reasons he couldn't comprehend. Why should this bother him? it wasn't his problem or his concern and John defiantly didn't wish any attention drawn to his predicament.

John's unsteady hands placed his favorite RAMC mug steaming and soon to be forgotten on the cluttered table, the Doctor said nothing more. So without hesitation Sherlock began to go through the motions of their usual almost nightly routine, something that only acted as a plaster for the wound not as a cure.

"John?"

"Hmm?" a tired reply.

"Thumbs aren't at all special."

"Really? I do believe certain primates would disagree." Followed by another heavy sigh.

"No, John. I mean the rate of decay, they decay just as quickly as toes."

"Oh. That's nice." Sherlock knew John had stopped listening, he continued anyway returning to his experiment, describing the process of decay and why he was using bleach to pour over thumbs and toes in separate containers of their own.

Sherlock wasn't aware of the exact moment that his flatmate had nodded off but he knew after several hours of silence that the emotionally troubled Doctor had fallen back to sleep in his chair, tea still untouched.

The dark haired detective found the hated shock blanket that Lestrade thought would be a funny gift to him after the Jeff Hope case. It seemed fitting here, John wasn't in shock but he did suffer mentally from something close to it.

An idea of new experiment then came to Sherlock's great mind. The thumbs and toes forgotten he moved to grab John's laptop from the couch, his own was out of reach in his room besides John wouldn't mind. If he had minded he'd use a more difficult password than _"Buymilk"_ well it was better than last weeks; _"autisticsociopathtof221b"_ oh John what does go on in that funny brain of yours.

After a few minutes of searching different sites Sherlock started to read through several articles on PTSD. Night terrors high on the list of symptoms, but Sherlock already knew John had PTSD it was no secret, what the consulting detective wanted to know was how to help his friend. As an experiment, a social experiment really, to alleviate boredom. That was the reason behind it, nothing more to it than that.

Sherlock remembered something about John, during UNI his friend's nightmares usually kept him awake during a challenging week of finals, or the young med student had troubled sleep after returning from summer holidays spent back home. Sherlock who hated spending his summer or any time back home, decided to start taking summer courses. John happily followed suit and supplemented with a summer Job working at the campus library. Which Sherlock found advantageous, because John always let him stay as late as he wanted while he closed up.

It was an easy fix back then, to just not go home.

Then there was the time before uni, where Sherlock had the same troubled thoughts over his friend. John even then as a child, always seemed so calm in appearance and easy going. But under it all there was more to him, things that he appeared to brush off easily during his waking hours, only bubbled up and threatened to drown him in his sleep. Once again Sherlock felt a bit at a disadvantage, he had no one to confide in, to ask what is normally suggested comfort in these situations.

He could ask Mycroft, but knowing his older brother he'd tell Sherlock to mind his own business. Or worse, Mycroft would think John was a danger to his younger brother and have him thrown in some institution where they'd drug the ex army soldier until he was a drooling mess. A younger Sherlock had experienced that first hand, and would never wish it on his worst enemy.

He could ask Lestrade, but the thought of sharing any kind of weakness of John's with anyone no matter how close or trusted a colleague, made Sherlock uneasy. John wouldn't appreciate others knowing his situation. Still someone needed to help, it was clear that therapist John was going to was completely useless and maybe she should consider another line of work or a position as a children's councilor in one of the state schools. That seemed more up to her aptitude.

Sighing heavily the dark haired man, placed his hands in the usual steepled position, he needed to think.

The memories he thought he had long deleted from his mind palace, started to spill out from the room that was John's. Sherlock entered into deep thought, moving through the halls of his mind. He located John's door, and upon entering the room, he found a mess of information. At it's center stood a young blond boy in a brown hoodie and a black eye.

"John you've managed to make a mess of things in here. I like to keep it organized. You make it impossible." Sherlock huffed moving to pick up the heavy books, loose papers and photographs. The emotions in this room were always so strong, especially after he'd left it unattended and locked for years. Again he thought he could delete this place, but in reality he could never delete anything that pertained to John.

The blond boy didn't say anything to Sherlock's irritation; instead he went to plop down in a chair similar to the one in the flat. In fact this room was a lot like the flat, and as soon as he straightened up a bit it would look cleaner than the flat. It smelled of tea and a fire burned warm in the fireplace. Sherlock had been in to sort the place out more and more recently. But no matter how organized he left it, whenever he returned it seemed cluttered once more. And some of the emotions were painful to sort through, he couldn't name them all, and the eyes of the young boy watched him curiously.

Before, when Sherlock had visited John's room, it was the uni version of John there holding his heavy backpack and an easy grin. This John would be replaced by the soldier, the one Sherlock had always pictured his friend to be, that was the last image of John that he locked away in a room he thought he deleted.

He hadn't said anything to the idea of Private John Watson. Sherlock had been hurt and furious, so no light shown through the window of the room at the time. This room that had been more like the dorm they shared. Private Watson only stood at attention looking forward when Sherlock had slammed the door locking him in. Now a picture of Captain Watson sat on the wall near a book shelf labeled childhood. The years clearly labeled on the spine of each book.

The consulting detective needed to find something in this mess that could help him in aiding his friend, he glared across the room at the hated cane leaning against a small end table with a steaming cup of forgotten tea. A rolled up green sleeping bag sat under the unpolished wooden end table. Sherlock neared it, seeing a discarded book of Treasure Island sitting open straddling the rolled up sleeping bag as if someone was saving their place and would return for the book soon.


	23. THE THINGS THAT HAUNT US

 

**CHAPTER 23. THE THINGS THAT HAUNT US**

The first night Sherlock had John sleep over provided the younger boy with an surmountable amount of data that he would otherwise never have discovered about his friend. The first was John was uneasy about sleeping in unfamiliar places. He didn't say it but his body language spoke volumes. This idea intrigued the younger Holmes, the thought of new places always excited him although he never wanted to sleep anytime or anywhere especially in a new place so many things to inspect or research, and adventures to concoct.

"You can sleep in the guest room down the hall or here on the floor of my room. The maid has already cleaned, moving all my experiments, now I'll have to start over. It's so frustrating, why cant she just clean around them?"

"Because Sherlock she probably cant tell which are experiments and what's really an old sandwich left on a plate under your bed forgotten for days."

"It wasn't a sandwich John-"

"Either way, which do _you_ prefer?"

"What?"

"Do you want me to sleep in the guest room, or I could put my sleeping bag on the floor?" Sherlock caught the hopefulness in John's voice but had no idea which option the blond boy wished for Sherlock to pick.

" I don't know how these things work or what socially acceptable customs apply. "

"Sherlock it's not so hard a decision, besides haven't you had a sleep over before?" John rolled his eyes.

" Certainly not. I have yet to willingly allow anyone, into my room. Anyway people are idiots John." His friends sudden look of exasperation made Sherlock shake his head "Oh, don't feel bad all people are. You're just not as stupid as most. Nowhere near my own intellect you understand, but at least a step up from the rest of the imbeciles that surround us. In short John you are the only friend I have, therefore it is easy to deduce you would be the only one to spend the night. "

"I see. Well." John shrugged. "I have been to a few sleepovers in my day, and it seems it's up to you."

The young Sherlock pressed his lips together and crinkled his forehead, an expression signifying deep thought " Would you be nagging at me to go to sleep?"

"No. In fact it is the expressed duty of the guest to try and stay awake as long as possible. And customary to have late night snacks, watch ridiculous action movies, comb over comic books and end the night with scary stories or pirate stories whichever you prefer."

"So in short you are here to entertain me?" John rolled his eyes once more but nodded.

"Well-it's supposed to be a mutual thing."

"And, will you be reading from that book." Sherlock pointed to John's overnight bag. One that Mycroft had surprisingly turned up with, John hadnt asked how the older Holmes had retrieved it, no doubt thinking that Harry must have packed up a few things.

"Yes?"

"Fine. You have permission to put your sleeping bag anywhere."

The younger dark haired boy, had turned to ask his friend another question about the rules and edict dictating such social occasions. He forgot whatever questions he was about to ask when John started to pull off his brown hoodie. John's white t-shirt came up a bit to expose the young boys badly bruised back. Sherlock flinched unexpectedly, it wasn't hard to deduce what would make those kinds of marks. John unaware of his audience neatly folded the hoodie, and he laid out his sleeping bag next to Sherlocks bed.

"This is ok right? Or should I move it to the foot of your bed? I didn't want to be in the way of you getting into your trunk of experiments. Not to mention the thought of sleeping near it did give me the creeps, knowing what you keep in there." John was frowning "Sherlock? You alright, that's the face you gave when poor Rita accidentally stepped on-or rather in one of your experiments."

"What?" Sherlock being so young didn't know why he felt a knot in his stomach form, now that the bruises fading from his friends arms were even more visible without the long sleeves to cover them. John put his hands behind his back realizing the intense scrutiny his younger friend had him under. Those gray eyes darting from John's left arm to his right then to his face.

"John?"

"Sherlock?"

"You said you fell?" John's shoulders tensed.

"Yeah. I'm not exactly the picture of grace like a certain person I know. I think you are descended from cats, I bet you'd land on your feet if you jumped off the roof." He quickly added "Now don't get any ideas. It was only a joke."

"John that is impossible. And a feline doesn't-" Sherlock realized his friend had changed the subject. This confused him more, why wouldn't he just answer the question? Why was he looking uncomfortable?

"Anyway John, right there is fine." Again the observant six year old took into account his friends slow movements, it hurt him to crouch. Sherlock decided to intervene, for reasons beyond him. "Here, I better do it. That way it's perfectly lined up with the bed and not blocking access to my trunk." 

"Yes, sir." John smiled stepping back allowing his friend to take the sleeping bag.

Having another person present while trying to explain an experiment was not at all as distracting as Sherlock first anticipated. Instead John played the perfect audience, he expressed slight interest, complemented Sherlock on his deductive reasoning and at Sherlock's request John started to read from Treasure Island.

The dark haired boy was busy testing the durability of one of Mycroft's ties. So intent on the ties destruction, all in the name of science of course, he forgot John had stopped answering him, or even talking. Sherlock sighed having nothing left but to see how fire retardant Mycroft's hideous yellow and orange tie was. Unfortunately he knew how John felt about playing with fire especially inside the house. So he would wait. Moving over to his bed he carefully stepped over John.

Sherlock paused he pulled Treasure Island out of John's grasp careful not to wake him. When he reached to lift Johns hand from the book, he winced seeing the bruises around his friends wrist. Purple fingerprints dotted John's forearm.

Sherlock tilted his head studying John's face. His friend was sleeping on his stomach, on top of his forest green sleeping bag, and utterly unconscious. Despite the bruises, John looked at ease. Something Sherlock envied, he found sleep dull true, but he often wondered how it felt to sleep longer than four hours and so soundly.

"Goodnight John." He murmured switching the lamp off, sighing heavily, his mind was rushing around in all directions, he couldn't read or look at the pictures of Treasure Island, all hopes of this distraction was gone and his mind refused to focus on anything but John. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the old hard back book still in his hands.

Who had done that to John? And why? The hand prints were too big to be a kid so it wasn't a fight with the local idiots. And John's sister had smaller hands so not his sister; anyway she was always gone according to John. A knot started to form in Sherlock's stomach once more, and it was starting to become annoying.

Had John been bad, misbehaved in some way? But why such a severe punishment, and why did Sherlock feel embarrassed by wanting to ask John about it? Sherlock thought about asking Mycroft, but Mycroft was always to busy and would probably feed him some half-truth. Still Mycroft would know if it was wrong to ask John about this. Mycroft was an annoying older brother, but he fixed things.

Like the time Sherlock lost his favorite scarf, Mycroft had the whole house searched, until it had been found. And when one of his violin strings broke Mycroft was sure he had extra's. He'd shown him how to properly repair it. One time Sherlock had been careless and broke the bridge, his brother fixed that too. Whenever mummy was sad, or father was upset Mycroft fixed it. This was mostly why Sherlock hated his brother, well hate was a powerful world. He resented it because Mycroft didn't know when to stop fixing things.

This was different, this was John. Maybe Mycroft could explain it to him, these feelings. Explain why John lied about being sick, why this was happening. It couldn't be normal, could it? Father often became frustrated but it resulted in sending Sherlock to his room nothing more than that.

John couldn't deserve something like that, everyone was always saying just how polite and well mannered John was. So in conclusion it wasn't John's fault. He looked down on his sleeping friend and wondered if he knew that.

It was well after three am when Sherlock was startled awake, he thought it was one of the house staff coming in to wake him, but a glance at the clock said otherwise. Then he heard it again, he looked over to the floor where John was sleeping, except his breathing was labored and heavy and something else, Sherlock turned the lamp on to get a better look.

His blond friend was tossing and turning, trying to wake up.  His t-shirt had come up revealing linear bruises, something like rope-no to thick, a belt.

Sherlock tried to make out the words his friend was saying, it became apparent that John was having a nightmare. The young Holmes wasn't a stranger to the concept, he often enough was terrorized by unspeakable things in his sleep. Like boredom, and never having the right supplies for experiments, the darker ones had monsters with his fathers eyes or ghosts that looked like his mother.

"John?" Sherlock sighed, he wouldn't get any sleep with the whimpering, besides it made him feel helpless hearing John make those noises. "John wake up." Sherlock jumped down from his bed, crouching next to his friend he put his hand on John's chest. "John, wake up." More forceful. "JOHN!" that did it, blue eyes startled confused and terrified met and locked with gray.

"What? Sherlock? You alright? Whats wrong?" John was panting, his words breathless.

"You were having a nightmare?"

"Yeah, hey. Sorry if I woke you." John's voice sounded weak, something Sherlock never associated with his only friend. With trembling hands the blond boy wiped his eyes and ran the back of his forearm across his sweaty forehead.

"It's fine John. You alright?"

"Oh, yeah. It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

Sherlock could only rely on his own experience with nightmares, he recalled climbing into Mycroft's bed and allowing his brothers presence next to him to reassure him as illogical as it sounded, that everything was going to be fine.

"John-"

"Yeah?" Johns voice still had a crack to it.

"I was thinking, well there is more than enough room on my bed, I don't know what the social edict is but it's far more comfortable than the floor, if you wish it. I would allow you to sleep next to me." Sherlock climbed on his bed and put his back to his friend, a heavy silence filled the air now, and John's breathing started to return to normal.

Sherlock thought John was going rebuff him or reply with a polite 'no thanks'

Instead to Sherlock's surprise there was movement and then pressure on the bed, signaling that John accepted his invitation.

"Do you mind if the lamp stays on?" John's voice was small almost a whisper.

Sherlock shrugged. "Doesn't bother me." The younger boy could feel the tension leaving his friend, so he turned to face John, who was laying on his back, eyes staring at the ceiling.

"John, if you were a pirate what would your pirate name be?" a smile started to form, making the bruise around his eye remind Sherlock of a plum left out in the sun to long,

"The Doctor."

"Just the Doctor? John that doesn't sound awe inspiring at all."

"Well it works for Doctor Who. Besides you do know you would need a skilled Doctor as part of your crew and an expert swordsmen" Sherlock had to agree with that. "What would yours be?"

"Sigerson the Ghost of the Seven Seas"

"Impressive in deed. I see you have put thought into it."

"John of course. And I would be needing a first mate as well as a doctor" he studied John out of the corner of his eye.

"Naturally. Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

And Sherlock found himself discussing the finer points of a pirates life, and the things he would change about taking on such a persona. To his surprise some time later John was in a deep sleep, his face no longer pinched, and his breathing easy and steady.

"Goodnight John." Sherlock rolled back to his book and started flipping through the pages. Felling as if he accomplished something just not knowing what.

_**~0~** _

Sherlock pulled himself away from the details of that memory, he neatly closed the book of Treasure Island and went to place it on the book shelf. Nothing here was helping, there had to be something. John wasn't a child anymore so he would certainly not wish to sleep in Sherlock's bed, it didn't bother him he hardly used it but for some reason his friend would no doubt find it uncomfortable and awkward.

He glanced around again, the walls of the room papered with emails and John's blog entries. Nothing useful to this situation, how frustrating. There was a backpack, red to the left of a rugby uniform. Uni had been the first time Sherlock and John actually lived under the same roof for extended periods of time, certainly there was some stored data there that would be helpful.


	24. NOCTURNE

 

 

**CHAPTER 24. NOCTURNE**

Sherlock frowned hearing the door of his dorm open, interesting; John was home on summer holidays. Well Sherlock technically should be as well but he'd returned early due to the fact that Mycroft was becoming more and more insufferable.

Constantly harassing him about choosing a major, Sherlock had loved the look on his brother's fat face after he'd told Mycroft he thought of majoring in philosophy.

A useless subject according to father and Mycroft, all the more reason to take it. Although Sherlock did agree with them, he would never admit it of course. In truth Sherlock didn't know what he wanted to do, he knew what he didn't want and that was to become a government drone like Mycroft.

He didn't have the patience to become an artist like mother although he had been told by many a scolding professor that he should take up theater, as good as he was at inventing lies or feigning interest. Another very dull subject, nothing to keep his mind active. John of course already knew what he wanted, Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that his friend would become a doctor. It was easy to deduce John Watson would make a damn good Doctor, because he didn't know how to do anything half way.

Even father had said as much, and father never complimented anyone.

"Sherlock?" Johns voice sounded off, a bit rough like he had been yelling. "I didn't know you were here-"

"Yes well. I couldn't stand being around Mycroft father's favorite son. I felt like I would be crushed under his incredibly large ego. Really father isn't helping matters by-" Sherlock had glanced up briefly from his microscope, something caught his eye and hadn't registered immediately, when it did his words fell away and he was standing moving towards his friend.

"John?" But his friend moved past him, dropping his red back pack down on the floor heading to the small kitchen area. Well it was a room with a sink, a hot plate and a small fridge so it could pass as a kitchen area.

"Tea?" John tried to even out his voice, but he sounded congested.

"John your nose is bleeding." Sherlock handed him a blue silk handkerchief. "Take it you know I have more."

"Thanks." Sherlock switched on the light of their bedroom slash sitting room. Two beds sat opposite sides of the room, a television in the corner and a closet divided into two sides, one for John's clothes and one for Sherlock's. Although Sherlock liked to leave his things on the floor instead of hang them up, actually this was true with most everything, books, shoes, forgotten lab experiments, of course it only looked worse because John hadn't been there to tidy up. He pushed these distracting thoughts down and focused on his friend.

"You know if you pinch it-"

"Sherlock I am a med student I do know how to take care of a nose bleed. Thanks." John took the handkerchief and sighed heavily plopping down on his neatly made bed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to- I'm just tired." Sherlock looked John over, his school hoodie had been stretched at the collar, the dark haired college student deduced someone had grabbed John or at least tried only to get a handful of hoodie. Sherlock went to the small kitchen and found an ice pack that John kept around after Sherlock burned his hand after starting yet another experiment on fire.

"Thanks." John mumbled placing the cold pack to his right eye, holding back a wince.

"What happened?" Sherlock took in John's appearance, his hoodie would need to be binned, the left knee of his blue jeans ripped and dirty. His knuckles red and raw, definitely a fight it was still a question of who won.

"I just want to sleep Sherlock. I'm a little tired. It was a long drive."

"How did you get back?"

"I hitched a ride." After catching the look of revulsion on his friends face he quickly added "And don't give me that look like I don't know that's dangerous but I couldn't stay another minute."

"John-" Sherlock plopped down next to his dormmate not knowing how to work this out.

"I think I might be in some trouble though." He shuddered, "I hit him pretty hard. He was fine, well fine to his standards. But the bastard just wouldn't stop. Usually I don't care, but he said something about Harry and then I just snapped. Harry told me to leave; she said I was just making it worse. I think the neighbors called the police, I don't know I grabbed my bag and just left. Do you think-"

"John clearly it was self defense. And I'm sure with your father's record it wont be too much of a leap to figure out who is in the wrong." Sherlock could see the way John's hands shook and he was trying to catch his breath, obviously the adrenaline had left his friend weak. "Honestly why do you go back?"

"He's been clean for six months this time, an accomplishment. I dont know-I must have said something but he started drinking almost as soon as I came home."

"John. Dont be dull. Your father only said he's been sober. When in reality he's gone no more than a week. An easy deduction. And it isnt your presence that causes him to drink. It's his own weakness. I don't believe the police will put too much thought into an investigation. So I suggest you drink your tea and sleep." 

"You're right Sherlock. Sorry if I worried you. What were you doing? An experiment?" Sherlock knew this tactic of changing the subject, John didnt believe anything he had said. The dark haired student sighed heavily, moving off the bed going to the closet he tossed a clean t-shirt towards his friend.

"Yes, but it's not going as I hoped."

"Oh?" Sherlock knew John just needed to hear someone talk, something to take his mind off of his situation. It was amazing how quickly the other boy would go from completely emotional to the picture of visible calm in a matter of minutes. Even his eyes had a way of misleading any ordinary person but Sherlock was far from ordinary.

Sherlock watched as John made himself a cup of tea, as if tea was the cure to everything. How very British, Sherlock would rather play a screeching tune on his violin to make himself feel calm again, still he accepted the tea John always made a point to offer.

An odd emotion seized the dark haired college student, he felt the sudden need to throw something, the mug seemed ideal, this confused him so he refrained from touching the mug.

His thoughts racing, John had gone home, less than two days, and he was already back. Well Sherlock had gone home for an hour and turned around. But not for the same reasons, Mycroft and him hadn't been in an actual physical fight since Sherlock was seven. And it hadn't really been more than Sherlock kicking and Mycroft holding him back laughing at his silly efforts.

How often had John stood up for him, throughout the years they had been acquainted? For reasons beyond Sherlock's and even Mycroft's comprehension John Watson had always been there to defend Sherlock in some way or another.

Whether it was to take on the school bully or an intoxicated Rugby player that Sherlock happened to insult by pointing out his sexual exploits or lack there of. Still John might be smaller than most boys his age, he held his own and the other Rugby players had been so impressed they invited him to try out for the team. Seeing how John had broken the nose of one of their best players.

John had a way of making friends easily, something else Sherlock found intriguing, granted it wasn't exactly a useful talent but it did come in handy when faced with half an angry football team over something Sherlock may or may not have said about the girlfriend of the forward center.

John had remarked it was a good thing that Rugby players tended to be built a little sturdier than football players. Sherlock had to agree, although he did have a few broken ribs, and Mycroft did have to smooth things over with the dean for fighting on campus, but the dean couldn't be to harsh after all if he expelled John and Sherlock he would have to also expel half the Rugby team that had been active participants all being good friends with John Watson. 

After that John and Sherlock stuck to places off campus for social stimuli. Well Sherlock avoided social atmospheres, he hated stupid and pubs were full of drunk idiots, John however always tried to drag him along.

It really didnt matter to Sherlock if he was left home, but John refused to allow him to become a recluse. He wasn't a recluse, he thrived on isolation. How could one think around the ear assaulting music and useless chatter of dim witted girls and testosterone driven sports fanatics? Not his ideal way to spend a Friday night. The only thing that seemed to elevate the mundane tedium of these situations had been the drugs. And college parties, he discovered where the best places to find a dealer, and of course price was never a problem.

The only downside naturally was John, the first time he'd discovered Sherlock doing lines with his new acquaintances, a business student Sebastian and his dealer Frankie, the med student went ballistic, Sherlock hadn't ever seen his friend that way, it was almost interesting if he hadn't been so numbed he might have actually studied the situation more.

On another occasion, John had tackled the dealer, and though Frankie Easton was at least a foot taller John Watson had more experience in fighting, having had to pull Sherlock out of fights more than once over the years. It wasn't until Easton's two other friends jumped in, the result ended in a bit of not good, and maybe a concussion.

Sherlock had only just stood fascinated by the spinning and the quiet of the place, how they managed to make it back to the dorm that night was beyond him. However Mycroft had been waiting for them, and Sherlock realized then just how meddling his brother could be, he suspected Mycroft thought he was intoxicated so he allowed his brother to think what he wanted, and for once was grateful to have someone help him get John to a clinic. Sherlock deduced his brother must have campus security on his payroll.

After that time and the many that followed (some John didn't know about) the younger man realized drugs didn't affect his mind the same way it did ordinary ones, even more reason to further investigate and study the reactions of cocaine and other synthetic stimuli.  Sherlock at first was more interested in the chemistry, the science behind the drugs, but  he found they effectively eased his boredom, locking out the world it was fantastic and euphoric and according to John utterly poison, unacceptable and self destructive.

Sherlock sighed taking his mobile out he decided to send two texts, pausing over the send button on the last one, he glanced once more at his friend, John had fallen asleep after washing up, he wore his usual flannel blue and white pajama bottoms and the school t-shirt that Sherlock had thrown him.

The med student was lying on his back one arm under his head as a pillow his other resting on his stomach, this Sherlock came to understand was sign his friend wouldn't be sleeping restfully tonight. Another spike of anger, he wanted to go down to John's home knock on the door and punch his friends drunkard father in the face. Physical violence was of course a convention of the uneducated but Sherlock would of make the exception.

Instead his phone vibrated his text had only just gone through less than a minutes time. His brother did loath texting but he always responded nonetheless.

_"The situation will be handled. I let mummy know you will be home for the Christmas."-MH_

Naturally Mycroft never did something for anyone without expecting a favor in return. John was worth it, anyway if he was going to have to spend Christmas Holidays at home over this, then John was coming with him. After all it was his fault that Sherlock would be forced to go, besides mummy adored John, father never objected to the older boy, Sherlock knew his father wished for a son more like John.

Focused and driven, although father never much cared for any show of sentiment, and John was obvious in his concern over Sherlock. Maybe even Mycroft thought John would have been a better brother, after all Father and Mycroft often pressed Sherlock for a career choice pointing out that he should follow John to medical school. 

On more than a few occasions father had held a conversation with John on his future plans for school and after. John always looked uncomfortable during these in counters, Mycroft always appeared amused and Sherlock never hid his disgust for the hypocrisy that was father.

Of course John would be a Doctor he was too stubborn not to succeed. Sherlock didn't like the idea of the social aspects involved with the medical field. Maybe he could be a coroner. That could be pleasing.

His phone buzzed again

" _Fine but I'll charge you extra for making me come all the way down here and turn back. Let me know when your boyfriends not home."-Frankie._

As expected John was already struggling in his sleep, it would be a long night. Sherlock tossed his mobile onto his own unmade bed, moving to pick up his violin. First he'd wake his friend before he fell out of bed like last time.

"John." No answer "John." Finally a little more sternly "JOHN." This did it, the blond sat up gasping as if Sherlock just pulled him from deep waters.

"Huh?" he put a hand to his head.

"You were dreaming."

"Oh, sorry if I woke you."

"Hardly." The other boy laid back his bruised fists now clutching his blond hair. Sherlock decided to play his violin , a tune he'd played for mummy when she was feeling ill. Only because he couldn't think long enough to complete his experiment. John was taking up valuable space in his mind palace, it annoyed and frightened Sherlock. Although he would never admit to the latter.

Taking up the bow, Sherlock started to play something from memory by Mozart. He thought John would object as he often did when Sherlock vented using his violin. Instead his friend's breathing became even and Sherlock realized after he reached the end that John had fallen into a deep untroubled sleep. Shrugging he put his violin on the cluttered table and returned to his experiment.

_**~0~** _

That's it! Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace he knew what could be done, but he would need to wait another night, when John had settled into bed. It was the ultimate experiment; perhaps he could start a new piece of music just for such an occasion. Something just for John, he would have to think on it but for now there were any number of pieces he could use.

Briefly returning to his mind Palace, Sherlock filed away the memories that cluttered the floor of John's room. Glancing quickly to John's chair he could see the ex soldier sitting with his face in his hands, the shadows of the fire burning dimly danced over the bowed head. This image of John didn't look up instead he remained in that chair, wearing his flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. Sherlock retreated from the room of his mind palace, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	25. HELD ALOFT

 

 

 

**CHAPTER 25. HELD ALOFT**

Despite Lestrade's initial intention to run a background check on John Watson, he was swamped with paper work and just forgot about Sherlock's flatmate, who the detective decided, wouldn't be around longer than three days.

A week later, he was running full speed, which would always be half speed compared to the long legged sprint of a certain reckless consulting detective. And after turning a corner he lost the two of them over a fence he couldn't even hope to jump even if he climbed onto the Skip.

Coughing he swore under his breath, damning his smokers lungs, he should have quit a lot sooner.

"Kelly come with me, Donovan you and Hedricks head that way."

"Yes sir, if we reach him first do I get to handcuff the bastard?"

"Donovan, if you are referring to the assailant then yes."

"Of course, come on Hendricks." She rolled her eyes and they went the alternate route, he called for back up to circle around the other side of the y shaped alley way, knowing Sherlock and Watson would chase the Russian thugs they were after straight out into the street where more officers would be waiting. At least that was the plan in Lestrade's head, and it half worked.

_**~0~** _

John panted heavily sliding to a halt as the Russian gangster they'd been chasing through the alley was tackled by two uniformed officers. Sherlock and Donovan were squaring off now, arguing over the number of suspects.

"You're missing one! Use your tiny little brain! Two, two suspects. Surely they taught you to count in the state school you half attended?"

"Admit it you got it wrong! If there had been two, where is the second one? If you don't get out of my way I'll have to use these!" Donovan shook a pair of cuffs at him, hopefully the DI would show up and play referee. John could see this was going to go nowhere.

Where was that man with the salt and pepper hair? John went back down the alley, hoping up over the fence he stood on the skip on the other side, jumping down no Lestrade.

He could hear someone-oh. walking over it was a radio, just like the one Sally had in her hand, except this one was broken. Someone must have dropped it, well maybe he could double back and find the DI, give him his radio, distance himself from the raised voices, really how could anyone be so disagreeable? Sure Sherlock had his quirks but really you catch more bees with honey than a sergeant full of vinegar.

John's instincts put him instantly on alert before his thoughts could catch up. Something was wrong, the sounds of muffled voices just down one of the more wider of alleys. Why would Lestrade be so far this way, he should have gone straight-

Something hit him, how could he be so dense, two. Sherlock had said two suspects, no one was asking about the second one. Moving quickly hoping he was wrong he drew his phone out, ready to make a call when he felt the old familiar rush of adrenaline the heightened senses, waiting for an enemy to attack from any side, maybe an explosion a suicide bomber. This was London, he reminded himself, no explosions here, no civilian hostages, or waiting snipers. No but there were criminals, he turned a corner hearing the indistinguishable sound of struggling.

There it was a massive man dressed in black suit pants and a blue silk shirt the sleeves rolled up, dark greasy hair slicked back, something right out of a damn gangster movie. Except this was reality and the hunting knife the thug held in his right hand made a madding sweep towards an already down DI. Thankfully the older man rolled right out of its path, but his escape was blocked, John reached for his Browning, his hand finding nothing but his belt, remembering Sherlock had said to leave it, this was just a quick look see nothing exciting. Sure, nothing exciting.

Blue eyes scanned for other possible dangers, identify hazards, and form a plan of attack. The sight of the young officer holding a hand to a bleeding thigh triggered something in John. Before he could properly think he ran full force at the big knife wielding thug just as he was about to swing what looked like a truncheon. Must have taken it off the injured cop, bastard.

The massive man hadnt expected the sudden force slamming into him knocking him off balance, forcing him back a few steps. "Call for back up!" John tossed his phone at the groaning DI.

A gash above his left eye, wouldn't need stitches, favoring his left, possible bruised ribs, gasping for air, more likely fractured.

It was the other man, the one who's face rapidly was turning several shades of gray, each one even more pale than the first. He was losing blood, hands shaking he was holding his leg. Damn, could be an artery, better make this quick.

John sized up his opponent, they circled each other, of course he would be underestimated so John hurled the handful of Russian curses he had learned from a Private Lutsky. Lutsky's parents had been immigrants that ran a butcher shop in Cardiff. Lutsky always swore in his parents native tongue, John picked up on it real quick. The giant in front of him started to reply in like, the Doctor pulled his coat off wrapping it around his left arm. Right first things first best disarm the fat bastard.

The ex army doctor wasn't as nimble as he used to be, still fresh out of the hospital less than acouple months, his shoulder still gave him pain but he didn't have the time to listen to it's protests. He blocked the predicted slashing of the knife, block the arm not the weapon Watson, coat was a precaution. A good one at that, he could feel part of the blade cut through to his skin, a flesh wound only, good, stepping in a hard blow to the solar plexus, knife clattering to the cement the truncheon easily removed by twisting wrist back, now he had the truncheon, he liked these odds, the bigger man grunted holding a meaty hand to his abdomen. Another threat or a curse, what did he say about John's mother?

No time swing Watson make it count, need to get behind him or drop him to his knees, watch his reach, kick the knife. Good, and duck. John let his training take over, he wasn't aware of his surroundings instead he brought the officers weapon hard to the left knee, just as a meaty fist swung, catching John's right side, rattling his rib cage and his frame but never his resolve he knew pain, and he could work through it.

Still he'd dropped the truncheon when that hit from a meaty fist knocked him to his back, managing to roll out of the way of heavy boot aimed at his head. Another comment about his legitimacy, John countered with one ridiculing the man's masculinity.

Then managed to get behind his advisory bringing an arm around the man's corded neck he sealed this hold locking it into place with his other arm, bending at the elbow, he squeezed. All the big man had in him as his oxygen rapidly depleted was one desperate thrust back against the brick wall of the alley, John held tight, although when he was crushed between the wall and the man at least a foot taller than him, and five times his weight, he felt his own shoulder scream out, and he knew one more would drop him. Fortunately the Russian started to snore falling forward limply.

John panted, cringing slightly, damn, to much strain on his shoulder. He couldn't think about it, or give in to it. He'd listen later, after the injured were stabilized.

"It's alright, I am a Doctor." He panted, pulling what looked like a white handkerchief from his pocket. "This is all I have, but we have to put pressure on this, let me see it."

"Bastard got me good."

"Just going to need a few stitches, doesn't look like you'll be playing footie for at least a month. But he didn't get any arteries. Now it's going to hurt but I need you to keep your hands over this, I do have to tie it tight, but it's to help slow the bleeding."

"I was a crap player anyway."

"Yeah, I was always partial to Rugby myself."

"Well you tackle like one. Not bad for a-"

"Oi, if you say shrimp, midget or anything of the like, I'll have to black out your other eye." The younger officer laughed despite himself. John checked the young mans pulse, he thought of all the wounds more severe he had to patch up with less time. This time, he only had to stabilize, help would come and the younger man, who couldn't be more than mid twenties would be at a hospital fast, stitched up and released within hours, if his blood pressure permitted and he hadnt lost too much blood.

No dead bodies, no smoke from burning buildings, the ground here was steady beneath his feet instead of trembling under grenade blasts and nearing tanks.

"An ambulance is on the way." DI Lestrade's grainy voice broke through John's haunted thoughts.

"Right, lets take a look then." John's legs felt a bit wobbly when he stood, but he held to the last of his adrenaline.

"You'll need a scan Detective Inspector, most likely you cracked two ribs, but it's best to confirm it. They'll ice it, and a plaster no stitches above your eye." John's blue eyes bore into Lestrade's. "No concussion. Good, real good. Any nausea? Headache?"

"What the hell are they teaching you in medical school these days?" Lestrade blurted out. When in reality he meant to say something like _'Doctor Watson are you some kind of super agent?'_

John never had a chance to answer, but Lestrade suspected he wasn't going to anyway. Several officers rushed into the alley, paramedics followed at their heels. John went straight over to the two tending to the young SC, Kelly, Timothy Kelly was the name he had given John.

Lestrade ignored the questions from the other set of paramedics, instead his eyes followed the young doctor as he faded into the crowd, moving unnoticed out of the alley except by the tall figure that staid at his side. Lestrade followed, he wanted answers, and of course to thank the younger man. He'd saved his ass and Kelly's.

"I just need air."

"John-you"

"Please, just let me puke with privacy-" Too late John Watson turned his back on his flatmate. Damn it, nerves, he never had been this way, in the service his nerves had never felt so raw.

How embarrassing he was a soldier, why was the blood on his hands so troublesome, damn his tremors! "FUCK!" he growled, trying to take a deep breath how humiliating to have his stomach empty out there in the alley, not to mention his damn shoulder started to remind him why exactly he hadn't been to active these last weeks.

"I'll just be over here, let me know if you need anything." Sherlock turned around not understanding John's sudden embarrassment. Everyone threw up at least once in their lives, and John had seen Sherlock passed out choking on his own vomit. He cringed recalling a few times his old dormmate had to help him clean up after a particularly bad binge week.

"Not now Lestrade, we'll give our report tomorrow at the yard." Sherlock cut the DI off, placing himself between the DI and the sight of a young Doctor losing whatever he'd eaten in one day, and possibly yesterday.

"Is he alright?"

"Of course he is." Sherlock growled.

"He doesn't look so good, maybe the paramedics could-"

Sherlock turned to look over his shoulder, John had his head resting against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his breathing, he held his arm close to his body. Lestrade could see the indecision play across the young dark haired man's face. Sherlock was moving worriedly towards the coughing Doctor.  
This was indeed a first.

Lestrade stepped out of John's field of vision, he could barely make out the muffled voices arguing back an forth then finally the two were nearing.

"Fine I'll go but I'm not going in an ambulance." John allowed Sherlock to lead him away from the alley, unaware of the DI at their heels.

"Fair enough, I'll call a cab."

"I'll give you a ride." Lestrade pretended he hadnt seen anything. Sherlock gave him a slight nod, with a look of appreciation. Maybe, the DI thought to himself, I do have a concussion. He held a napkin to the gash on above his eyebrow.

"Good, you'll have to get those ribs scanned. And at the very least two stiches." John's voice sounded hoarse, and scratchy. As if he'd been yelling, was he really worried about Lestrade, the guy looked ready to keel over for Christ sake.

Lestrade watched as John limped from the alley at a painfully slow pace. This was not the same man who had charged forward, taking out a fairly large assailant. Then saw to the injuries of two complete strangers, only to ignore his own injuries.

Who the hell was he anyway? There was so much more than brown jumpers and a polite grin.

* * *

**A/N: thanks JAL for your informative instructions over the use of a truncheon. It came in handy!**


	26. THE RULES OF FRIENDSHIP

 

**CHAPTER 26. THE RULES OF FRIENDSHIP**

When Lestrade was finished with his scan he found Sherlock and his brother Mycroft locked in a heated argument in the hospital corridor. Both men fell silent before the DI was within ear shot.

"Ah, Detective Inspector." Mycroft was the first to greet him, Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Just fractures I take it."

"Yes. How did-never mind."

"If you're finished Detective Inspector John and I are more than ready to leave."

"Sherlock I offered you a ride-" Mycroft interjected.

"Don't you have some war to start?Or a treaty to ignore?" Mycroft only gave his brother a tight smile. "Besides you know how John hates attention."

"Its not like I haven't given him a ride from the hospital before, nor you for that matter." Sherlock glared at his brother.

"I wont be bullied he's not eight anymore he wont be bullied either."

"Must you be so disagreeable."

"It's fine, I don't mind giving them a ride home, it's the least I can do. I don't know what kind of training they're giving Doctor's in med school these days but it put James Bond to shame. And I didn't know he could speak Russian?"

Lestrade felt a smug triumph for the first time since knowing these Holmes brothers. He obviously knew something they didn't. Both Holmeses were starring at him as if he'd just sprouted horns.

"You wouldn't have believed it, but he had the man subdued and out in less than five minutes. And I'm pretty sure there were mentions of mothers and pigs-the only words I understood but it enraged the big one."

"Russian?" Sherlock looked thoughtful. "I'll have to ask. Come along Lestrade, you can buy us a pint. I believe that is the socially acceptable thing after these kinds of situations." The DI's eyes widened Mycroft only rolled his eyes,

"I'll be seeing you soon Detective Inspector." Mycroft turned just as dramatically and headed down the hospital corridor in the opposite direction.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade caught up to the consulting Detective.

"Lestrade?" he replied in the same questioning tone.

"Are you serious about the pint?"

"Of course I am. Isnt that what people do after a particular trying day?"

"Yes."

"Then whats the problem?"

"You never go out for a pint. You generally hate all social atmospheres."

"Do I?" Sherlock gave a half smile as if he was considering the truth in it. Lestrade watched him wearily. The man was up to something. But God help him, the DI did need a pint or two.

"John. All through?" The Doctor was looking a little distant, as if he was miles away. His arm in a sling. Lestrade tensed, what if the man wasn't mentally stable. Sherlock sent him another hard look, no doubt reading Lestrade's mind like he usually did.

"The DI had invited us out for a pint. I suggest we go after the stress of the day."

"Wait, since when do you do social atmospheres?" John snapped out of whatever day dream he had started to wonder into.

"I said the same thing." The DI replied, and both men where looking at the consulting detective suspiciously.

"Well if the two of you are going to act so shaken-"

"Oh don't ruin it with a tantrum." John smiled now, Lestrade could see the color in the doctor's cheeks returning.

Before they reached the pub Sherlock realized he'd forgotten something and encouraged the two to go on without him. John frowned "Well maybe I'll just go back with you-"

"Oh, no it's fine. You go ahead have that well earned pint."

Lestrade stood there watching the young man catch a taxi and it started to dawn on him. Was he trying to give him time alone with the younger man, so he could ask his questions? That consulting detective could be infuriating and strange but he did have a way of reading minds, it was annoying and convenient. So he would use the opportunity to figure the other man out.

"Come along Doctor I do think I owe you a few."

"I'm not much of a drinker maybe just one, then I'll call it a night." The DI could see the younger man straighten up as if standing at attention, remembering reading somewhere once that those suffering from PTSD didn't care to go into a crowded place, anxiety going into hyper drive in crowded places where people walked behind the sufferer. Sure enough once they arrived the younger man stationed himself with his back to the wall nearest the exit.

"Alright here you go. This ones on me." John thankfully took the cool glass this pub wasn't teaming with people quiet the opposite. Lestrade frequented this pub for that reason, and most the regulars were Yarders.

"So Doctor how long have you known Sherlock?" The younger man smiled taking a sip of his beer.

"Oh, since the insufferable git was six." Lestrade almost choked on his beer instead he swallowed. "You're serious?"

John nodded "Yup, first time I came across him he was six, and made several observations or rather deductions, voiced them out loud to kids three times his size and unfortunately twice mine."

"Well what happened?" John laughed now shaking his head remembering that encounter.

"Well I got a few swings in but there were three of them. And next thing I know it I am waking up staring at these two disinterested gray eyes. He says; _'You blacked out.'_ "' Lestrade could imagine that, hearing the bored tone. "Oh and if you think that's funny he finished with _'It seems after they beat you unconscious they no longer had the energy or urge to continue with me'_ We've been friends ever since."

"You're serious?" Lestrade was on his second pint.

"Yeah, but he's a good friend. Keeps life interesting."

This gave Lestrade the opening he wanted. "So you've been in the army these last couple years?"

"Yes, about five." Lestrade could sense the younger man was tensing up, a dark shadow seemed to crawl into the blue of the ex soldiers eyes. As an experienced interrogator he knew the signs of someone about to put up a wall, so instead he changed the subject. "Well welcome to the side show." John smiled again brightly.

"Is it always like this?" Johns voice had a slight slur, and his cheeks were flushed.

"Not always, just when he's around." Lestrade replied. "Between you and me mate I prefer the slow days. Less paperwork." John laughed.

"Well Detective Inspector I should be getting back, god knows what he's up to." Lestrade nodded grabbing his coat, the Doctor only held his because of the sling.

"I could only imagine. I think you Doctor Watson are the longest running flatmate to stay, usually they don't last a day." Watson laughed again, something told the Detective Inspector the younger man hadn't done a lot of that in the past.

"Please call me John. And I do know how insane the genius can be. He was just as bad in Uni. Our whole building was ready to hang him after the first week."

"John it is. First names Greg, or Lestrade or Detective Inspector. You're telling me you went to Uni together?" John nodded,

"Yes. I was his one and only flatmate. At least back then he didn't have access to body parts."

Lestrade was trying to see Sherlock as a student, did he always dress so reserved, or was the younger man casually dressed in jeans and a hoodie?

"Oh sometime I'll have to tell you about the Rugby team incident-and then not long after the football team incident. It's a wonder they didn't give us the boot. I do have the sneaky suspicion they named a hall Holmes Hall after the sizable donation the Holmes family made, just to keep Sherlock from being kicked out. That and I think they may have reserved a hospital bed just for the two of us those first couple years due to all the scraps we got into."

Lestrade helped the younger man up the stairs of 221B, the doctor apologized admitting that he hadn't had a drink for almost a year. So the alcohol and the fatigue affected him more than he wanted to admit.

"Lestrade-" Sherlock huffed seeing John trying to appear sober, "I thought a pint. You've brought him back-" Sherlock eyed his glassy eyed friend, sniffing the air around the grinning doctor. "-yes you've brought him back drunk." John broke down into a fit of giggles.

"You worry to much Sherlock. I am far from drunk. I only had a couple."

"Yes and you haven't been out of the hospital more than a couple of months. Really John you're the worst patient. And if you were at your normal weight a couple as you put it, wouldn't affect you so horribly."

"Well as a Doctor, I bid you two goodnight, I do think it's well past my time. Detective Inspector we'll have to do this again sometime. Sherlock g'night."

"Needs some help?" The detective winced seeing the younger man nearly stubble over his own feet.

"No, I'll be fine."

"Sure." Sherlock scowled at the DI. who looked a little shame faced. Sherlock still in his dark suit steadied his friend and helped him up the stairs to his room. Sherlock could feel how thin John was, and it bothered him, back in Uni their positions had been switched and it was the blond man who had nearly carried him home after indulging too much.

"Thanks." He laid back Sherlock gently removed the sling and the other mans shoes, his friend already snoring. "Goodnight John." He switched on his friends bedside lamp.

DI Lestrade had listened to the usually condescending consulting detective talk in low tones. There was a story here and he was only catching half of it.

"So DI are you satisfied?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well you had your doubts now did you get them cleared up?"

"Was that what this was about?"

"John doesn't have to explain himself to anyone. However I didn't want you nosing around. He's a private man and if the two of you are going to work together and be friends-"

"Wait are you telling me you are making him your assistant? And who said anything about friends?"

"Yes. Of course he'll be my assistant. And I know how this works. I've been that man's friend for years, people generally like him. He can make friends within minutes of talking to a complete stranger. Although since he has been back he hasn't ventured out too much or made any new acquaintances male or female." Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin, his 'thinking' pose.

"He doesn't trust easily." Sherlock felt guilt for that. "But like I said if you are going to be friends I thought I could help it along. He doesn't like to talk about the war or his time as a soldier, especially how he was injured these are subjects to avoid. I know you have your concerns over his mental well being and the close proximity an ex soldier suffering from PTSD is to a sociopath that tends to push buttons. So I gave you this opening. I myself find sentiment and friendship tedious and distracting. But John however thrives best in social atmospheres. That said, I know Mycroft will eventually come to you with a file on John. I suggest you not read it. If you hope for any kind of friendship don't read it."

"Why what will I find?"

"Nothing you wouldn't find out by talking to him, nothing he wouldn't reveal over the course of time. Like all friendships develop surely you being experienced in this department should understand the edict around such things." The DI rolled his eyes.

"Yes, ok. I get it. You're telling me to back off. Alright. Alright. I can do that. As long as he isn't a danger to you, or himself, or anyone else"

"I assure Detective he isnt a danger to me or anyone else."

As Greg unlocked the door of his car he realized the Consulting Detective didn't say John Watson wasn't a danger to himself. This bothered him in a way, because despite his prior reservations he thought the doctor would be an excellent ally when dealing with the impossible consulting detective. That and he seemed like a likeable bloke.


	27. FINE AGAIN

  **CHAPTER 27. FINE AGAIN**

 

Sherlock thought about what he had said to Mycroft earlier, before Lestrade had interrupted. What did Mycroft know about it? How would he know what John needed? Today had been a set back, he should learn to never let John out of his sight.

That said, he was a bit disappointed he hadn't seen John in action, that Russian had been a mass of man and John put him down. Not just putting him to sleep, but he unarmed the man.

Sherlock would charge a new coat to the Yard. John's was beyond patch work. And he made a note to ask his friend where he learned Russian.

He recalled the awe in the Detective Inspector's eyes. Good, Sherlock had been thinking lately that John needed to get out, not just to PT and therapy and back.

He was aware of John wanting to find a job, and his physical therapist had yet to clear him, even though the tremor in his hand was barely noticeable, he would never perform surgery but it didn't mean he wasn't an excellent doctor.

The Detective Inspector didn't realize it fully yet, but he would. John always appeared so ordinary, but oh how appearances were so deceiving.

That man disguising himself in a brown jumper, behind a quiet disposition, that man was extraordinary. He was loyal, kind, and had a temper. Oh yes, when it came to John when his fuse was lit he could be very intimidating.

Even before the army.

John's quiet moods were distracting, Sherlock never understood why but they made him lose focus on everything. He wished for his friend to be fine again, although something told him he would never be the same carefree young man he once was.

He recalled something John had said when they were younger and really all throughout their childhood. _Friends protect each other_.

Sherlock was still a bit unclear on some aspects of this rule. John had always just known what to do in most situations when someone was needing help.

Surely being friends included protecting said friend even from themselves and any self-destructive tendencies. So Sherlock would be a friend, although he was a bit in the dark and had nothing to reference except what little data he stored on the subject in a room of his mind palace marked John.

John already had a best friend, but more acquaintances would be welcome.

A sudden thought struck the self proclaimed sociopath, was he still John's best friend? Even now after their falling out? As children John always reassured the younger Holmes they would always be best friends and no one could take Sherlock's place, even in death.

He'd given his word and this Watson never went back on his word.

Still Sherlock started to panic then realized even if he wasn't John's best friend due to the fact he had no other friends then he won by default. Deciding that the DI wasn't at all competition Sherlock relaxed. These thoughts were so confusing, he looked forward to John snapping out of these dark moods so he could get back to focus on experiments and cases, and the puzzle that was this mysterious Moriarty that the cabbie had spoken of.

He needed to clear his mind, but until this John situation was sorted he couldn't hold and maintain any thought without the interruption of sentiment.

After all Sherlock didn't need any friends, he just had one, John however wasn't built that way. It was obvious to the consulting detective why, although he didn't understand the emotion behind it. It was simple, John compensated friends for the family he didn't have.

Another reason for not having friends, he couldn't imagine how much more exhausting it would be having to worry about others, he didn't have the brain space or patience for it.

As it was Sherlock didnt much like his own family let alone any other idiots in his everyday life, well other than John, why would anyone want to create such restrictive and suffocating relationships that defined familial bonds?

John could be so frustrating and puzzling, he was a puzzle that Sherlock had been trying to solve since their first meeting in the park.

Now Sherlock wondered why he had been bothered by the Detective Inspectors opinion of the Doctor? Why should he care? Lestrade wasn't at all important he was just someone that gave him puzzles to solve.

The older man was nothing more, andstill when Lestrade had looked at John as if afraid the Doctor wasn't stable or safe for Sherlock to be around- Really once again Lestrade you show a lack of observational skills.

The Detective Inspector didn't need to worry about John hurting anyone. John needed a new purpose in life. What better than sharing in the consulting detectives, solving crimes could be the needed stimuli and adrenaline rush.

And of course the consulting detectives offer to cover the costs of living was shot down immediately by his very stubborn friend.

John insisted on paying his fair share, as it was he was always buying groceries sapping his pathetic pension.

Really was that all the Government could give a man for nearly dieing? Maybe Mycroft could look into that.

The older Holmes would love to meddle, no, no Sherlock wouldn't ask his brother for anything if he could help it.

Sherlock thought of another way to get his stubborn friend to accept money without it feeling like charity. Because it was not charity, isnt that what friends did? John could be so hypocritical on some subjects.

So a plan was formulated, working a case could supplement that tiny army pension and feed the adrenaline junkie that John used to be.

Sherlock smiled again to himself perhaps he would start accepting the always offered payment on his private cases, he didn't need the money mind you, this is why he turned it down something that if John was made aware he most definitely would not allow.

Sherlock anticipated a brief lecture and scolding over allowing people to not compensate him for his hard work, and Sherlock would agree with a great show of none interest but compliance.

He would then demand that in fairness and using John's own lecture against him that John should take his share. It was brilliant! He took John's laptop breaking the password within seconds, really John _EARLGREY_ wasn't a password at all, why even make one up for that matter?

Time to scan his email for possible cases.

Mycroft's concern over it being too soon to push the Doctor onto crime scenes, and he warned Sherlock that his friend wasn't completely healed, physically or mentally.

It was low of Mycroft but not at all surprising that he had acquired John's therapists' notes, useless woman.

What would John think if he found out? Embarrassed? Humiliated? Sherlock decided not to mention it, however he knew his brother and how he worked. Lestrade had questions, Mycroft would answer most of them, the ones he felt important.

And he would give Lestrade a file on John, it was on thing for Mycroft to posses such a file marked Watson, John H. but it was an invasion of privacy to share said file with another, without John's permission.

No doubt it would contain everything on the Doctor from birth to present, including medical histories and that in particular was no ones concern.

John would view this as a huge invasion of his privacy. And if he knew Lestrade had read it then any hopes at becoming John's friend would die then and there.

That was why he warned the DI, if they were all going to work together it was best not to start out on the wrong foot.

Since when did Mycroft care anyway? John would not appreciate being the focus of his older brother's "concern" it always came with strings, and surveillance attached.

Ah here it was an offer from an old acquaintance, should be interesting. Maybe John has forgiven and forgotten the whole situation with Sebastian. Well they would find out in a week. That was enough time for John to have his shoulder back in working order.

The younger Holmes paused hearing his friends bed creaking knowing John was starting to stir, drinking wouldn't help with the nightmares. If anything it would keep his flatmate from waking himself from whatever horrors haunted him.

Taking up his violin like he had planned, he started something soft, putting bow to violin the first strokes were intended to catch the listeners attention, sharp, like a command and then it moved into a steady lively tune as if soldiers were marching, finally he allowed the strings to humm, slur and whisper a slow hypnotizing melody. Sherlock had written this on a whim while John was out with the DI.

At the end of his new piece, he held his breath, listening for anything. Only to hear the steady breathing of a sleeping Doctor. Good John would need sleep for their next case.

Returning to his microscope, a small grin forming on his lips, success.


	28. IN DREAMS

**CHAPTER. 29. In DREAMS**

John was standing in the gray of smoke swirling around him, he could feel it trying to swallow him whole, choking him, drowning him. The sounds around him were of men yelling for his help except he couldn't see them, and there were so many pleas.

"Doctor!"

"MEDIC!"

"We need A DOCTOR!"

"Oh! GOD! I'M DYING!"

John stumbled pushing through the fog, "Oh! DOC!" someone was helping him stand. "Doctor it's his leg!" and the soldier tugged on John's medical pack, motioning which way to go. Both soldiers crouching down as the bullets sped past over head. They made their way to a ditch where other soldiers peeked over the side returning fire.

"This way Doc, you gotta help!"

John had a job to do, he knelt down to examine the young soldier with a bloody stump where a right leg should be.

"He's bleeding!" the younger soldier pointed out.

"This man is dead. I cant save him." John couldn't feel a pulse, and the young man's eyes were blank his face expressionless, no light, he was gone.

"We all are."

The soldier frowned removing his helmet John could see the side of his skull covered in the thick blood and gray that was brain matter.

Turning away, horrified John wanted to run, but the soldiers in the ditch no longer holding their guns were looking at him, with blank eyes.

Reaching for him, pleading for help. A variety of fatal wounds scarring their bodies, one man had a hole clear through his chest, John morbidly found himself staring into the gaping hole to the ditch wall on the other side.

They wanted help. There is no healing the dead, no bringing back what has passed.

Frantic now, he tried to crawl out of the ditch, the dead were pulling him down, frenzied and begging. He couldn't save them, he couldn't, they were beyond his aid.

There were others out there calling for him, he had to get to them, but the dead were yelling angrily. He kicked and pushed at their gripping hands and bodies, every time he had nearly pulled himself from the ditch they would only pull him back. 

"I cant help you! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Still they pulled him down, down into the ditch the sand of this place filling his mouth and blurring his vision. He covered his head with his arms, wishing for the walking dead to go away.

To leave him. He couldn't repair what was too far gone.

The hands stopped pulling at his arms and medical pack. Slowly his head came up from his knees, his arms no longer hugging them to his chest. The bodies were gone, the ditch empty, but the wind was howling, not a fierce howl, a little softer. Was it wind? He couldn't tell, the battle continued on somewhere in that fog.

Something was pushing past the haze of smoke, penetrating the confusion of the haunting pleas belonging to the dead and dying. Something soft and it called to him like a cool summers breeze on a hot day.

The soldier strained to hear more trying to identify where it was coming from.

The sound grew like a warm camp fire given oxygen and more kindling, crisp at first, and it demanded his attention, was it a parade march?

Heavy legs allowed him to stand slowly, and with arms of jelly he pulled himself up and rolled out of the ditch. He slung an abandoned rifle over his shoulder.

The smoke of battle still unrelenting, but the desperate cries from the long dead seemed to fade into the back ground just a bit, taking back seat to the mysterious music.

His feet carried him forward, wanting to find the source, with every step the sounds around him grew softer and softer and the music louder, impatient, and playful, if music could be given feelings or emotion.

He came to a sudden stop, out of the fog stepped a young boy with dark curls and curious gray eyes.

John's first thought was for the boys safety, what was this child doing in a war zone? John looked the thin child over, dressed in the white garb of an Afghani child, but the blue scarf on his head wasn't right, the material was a heavier cotton, like a winter scarf.

The boys skin wasn't bronzed or sun kissed by the hot desert sun, it was a flawless porcelain. 

This child ignored the soldier, his face pinched his sandaled feet shifting from side to side. He was looking for someone. Who?

John kept himself directly in front of this mysterious boy, not wanting him to see the gruesome scene that was just behind him.

A familiar grin started to tease the edges of the dark haired kid's cupid bow lips, one that spoke of mischief and curiosity. Then the inquisitive eyes narrowed, "Have you seen my friend John?"

"Sherlock?" John felt like crying and laughing out of the sheer confusion, his voice hoarse barely a whisper, was it from the yelling? Had he been yelling?

"He's out here somewhere I think, lost." The boy sighed impatiently scrutinizing the soldier in front of him with one cutting glance.

"That is me. I'm John." Still nearly inaudible.

"No, John isnt at all like you. He is something quite the opposite."

"It is me." John let his AK and pack fall behind him, removing his helmet. "Sherlock why are you out here? You shouldn't be. It isnt safe." John took a step forward the young Sherlock shook his dark head the blue scarf hanging loosely around his shoulders swaying with his dark curls.

"You shouldn't either." He stated irritably. "Besides. As I said I'm looking for John. He's out here lost. He wont be able to find his way back. I have the map." He waved a folded piece of paper at John.

"Dad?" John turned hearing another boy's voice, it was himself but 12 wearing a white t-shirt and ripped Jeans. Sky blue eyes flicked from him to the young boy at his side. His body tensed, John flinched from the look of fear. 

"No-I'm not him. I-"

"Come on John." The younger Sherlock quickly grabbed his friends arm the other boy flinched away from the soldier moving past, looking over his shoulder their eyes met.

"Don't! Don't go out there! It's not safe!" and just like that they disappeared through the haze.

John wanted to follow them, he thought he could hear laughter, when had the shooting stopped?

In it's place the music had taken over completely and somehow it had changed when John wasn't paying attention to it.

The music, not as stern and stiff, if music could be this, it had transitioned into something warm, and even the sun seemed to respond, he wanted to be near it to be blanketed in the sound.

Away from this, this place that threatened to drown him, he didn't want to be here surrounded by the dead, the desert and hopelessness.

Shuffling forward he broke into a run, his booted feet coming down on something else, grass and sand. Softer sand, lighter than the scorched earth of where he had just come from. The army Doctor tilted his head back glancing skyward, welcoming the sun on his face.

Not the same sun of the desert, this one warm and welcomed, instead of burned and punished.

The sound of waves, no-it was the music soft like the resonance of an ocean, like a warm summers breeze combing over gentle waves. The air was clear, he could breathe, he could breathe. He found himself standing under the shade of a tall oak tree, an ocean to his left and just to the right of him in the distance, on a hill of green grass and cream colored sand, someone was playing the beautiful melody and John yearned to be closer but feared to interrupt the man in a dark suit with even darker curls.

Instead he sat beneath the shade of that tree, searching now over the green of the grass, beyond the sand of the empty beach, and onto the waters of a temperate ocean. Two small figures were running along the edge of the water, the music carried the laughter to the soldier still in his blood stained fatigues. He laid his weapon down, and took in a breath of cleansing air.

Hugging his knees to his chest, the drowning feeling, the pulling and the stretching of his heart eased, this place seemed to blur and some other kind of dream took the place of what had started out as a nightmare.

_**~0~** _

The Doctor awoke the next morning feeling rested, he'd actually slept in, even his shoulder didn't feel so stiff. He could hear the familiar sounds of a flatmate moving around down stairs.

"John, sleep well?" His flatmate didn't look up from where he perched, (yes perched) in his usual chair.

"Actually-" John started to say something but thought better of it only answering with a simple "Yes. Yes. I did."

"Hungry dear? Oh! What did you do to your arm?" Mrs. Hudson popped her head out of the kitchen. For not being a housekeeper most days she could be found in their kitchen stocking their fridge, or tidying up.

She didn't give John a chance to reply instead she was pointing a finger at Sherlock.

"You. What trouble did you get the Doctor into? He is still on the mend."

"Oh, its nothing Mrs. Hudson just a bit of a strain nothing some pain relievers couldn't cure." Her face eased. "And I would love some breakfast." John was trying to change the subject, but his stomach growled in response to the offer of food, instead of revolting at the idea.

"Good, I've been trying to get this one to eat all morning. I was afraid the eggs would go to waste. It's still warm go on sit down. I'll get you some beans."

The Doctor caught his friend smirking from across the sitting room, hacking away on a familiar looking laptop.

"I wont ask if that's my laptop."

"Good I hate redundant questions."

"Some tea dear?" Mrs. Hudson placed a fresh mug of steaming tea next to his plate.

"Thank you." John wasn't used to being waited on, even as a child his sister was never home and it had been left up to him to fix dinner, although his father more often then not left his plate untouched.

"You know dear, you should eat more, it's not right for you to be so thin. You have to get your strength up. I know it's the fashionable thing these days. You young men looking frail and thin wearing your hair down in your faces.-"

"Mrs. Hudson do shut up. John keeps his hair relatively short."

"Yes, he does." She smiled affectionately. "Now Doctor Watson, I will be making some chicken casserole and bread for dinner, I expect you two to finish it all. Lord knows it isn't safe to put leftovers in that fridge."

"Ah, thank you Mrs. Hudson. I will try." John offered her a warm but tight smile, an uncomfortable flush coloring his neck and cheeks, unused to such open affection, "As for the fridge I will attempt to uh, get it a bit more organized."

"That's a good boy." She patted his head and John kept himself from stiffening, like many returning from the battle field he didn't like to be touched. It would take some getting used to, Mrs. Hudson after all had a big heart and he didn't want to offend the older woman.

"How's the shoulder?" Sherlock asked without looking up from the laptop balanced on his skinny knees, it couldn't be comfortable perched like that on the small chair. Still, the consulting detective made it appear so.

"A bit stiff but it'll be fine, I'll just wear this damn sling for a week and be done with it."


	29. THE ART OF FINGERPOINTING

 

 

**CHAPTER 29. THE ART OF FINGER POINTING**

"Detective Inspector, I hoped to catch you before you left for work."

Lestrade had been on his way to the kitchent to start the kettle, when the British Government's cool voice nearly caused him to have a heart attack mid stride

"Jesus Mycroft you! I wont even bother asking how the hell you got in." The gray haired DI held a hand to his chest.

"Goodmoring Detective Inspector. I've taken the initiative to have Henrick here,  start the coffee. Why don't you have a seat." Lestrade looked over to the big mass of a man standing now at his counter with a look of solemn determination. It took everything in the Detective Inspector to keep from laughing, seeing a man more suited perhaps for pro wrestling than playing tea party standing at the counter pulling two mugs down from the cabinet was comical to say the least.

"Suppose I wouldn't have a choice either way." Lestrade replied grumpily despite the entertainment. From experience he knew there was nothing to do for now but to hear the domineering older Holmes out. Feeling at a disadvantage in just his gray flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt, he held back a yawn and took a seat across from a well-dressed Mycroft Holmes. Lestrade often wondered if the man just slept in his suits, or perhaps he was a government robot that just plugged himself in to a wall to recharge a few hours a night, never to wrinkle or dirty his posh wardrobe. Today's by the way was a very stiff gray with a yellow silk tie.

"I apologize for the early hour. I would have come last night but it seems you were out unwinding with John at the pub. You do understand drinking isn't in his best interest at the moment. "

"Excuse me?" Lestrade was thrown by this bit of information, he pulled away from his thoughts of where Mycroft would hide his robot power cord or perhaps he had something like a usb or memory stick attached to his body where he just-

"Naturally you have no reason to believe otherwise, not knowing the Doctor's family history and background. I've taken the liberty of putting a file together so we can avoid these unpleasant misunderstandings. I of course do not blame you this time, it was a severe oversight of my own to not bring you up to speed on my brother's new flatmate."

"Right." Lestrade glanced at the folder now directly in front of him. "I wondered when we would have this little meeting over the new flatmate development. I for one would have never thought your brother capable of such a relationship but I'm pulling for him. Hope it works out, to each his own."

"Do try not to be simple Detective. I understand fully that my brother's 'relationship' with the John Watson is purely platonic. The poor Doctor, has had the unfortunate luck as to be the only friend of Sherlock Holmes for the past twenty four years. As you can only imagine it cant be an easy role to fulfill."

"Yeah. I bet. But he doesn't look all that stable himself."

"I can assure you this hasn't always been the case. Just recently the good Doctor has fallen onto some hard times. He just only picked back up on his association with Sherlock."

"Right, I kind of wondered where this mysterious Doctor friend had been these last five difficult years." Lestrade couldnt help but test the waters here, wondering if Doctor Watson was also a touchy subject for Mycroft Holmes as it was for Sherlock. He received his answer when Mycroft replied sharply.

"He's been fighting a war. One in which has left him a little out of character. I believe had you met him in another time before his injury you Detective Inspector would have fallen into an easy friendship with him. John Watson has a way of making friends without difficulty a skill my brother has yet to master or care to master. I myself find it useless; sentiment is never an advantage, only dims and dulls the senses. Distasteful really."

"So I've been told. Listen I've had this conversation with Sherlock. In fact it was he who devised this little scenario of taking John out to the pub. So take it up with him."

"He did?" Mycroft leaned back as Henrick sat two steaming cups of coffee down in front of the two men. Lestrade gratefully took his, guessing right off Mycroft wouldn't lower himself to do the same. "Interesting. Sherlock was never one to share his toys. He'd rather break them before allowing anyone a turn. Did he say anything else to you?"

"Not surprising that. I had a spoiled nephew the same way. And yeah as a matter of fact your brother warned me you might turn up with a file." Lestrade didn't want to picture that idea, John was a man not a toy or a pet. How the hell did he ever get mixed up with these two hardhearted callous men? He wondered if that file held those answers.

"Yes. Well as it seems John Watson has always been an exception. And I suspect my brother instructed you not to accept the information I offer so freely?"

"What do you want Mycroft? Do you want me to scare the Doctor off? Because I'll tell you now Sherlock doesn't seem like he's willing to part with his friend too easily. And as far as I can tell this new flatmate is the reason for Sherlock's sudden personality change and quite frankly it's an improvement. I dont know if I want to return to the old unreasonably pompous consulting detective. I think I might prefer the somewhat unreasonably pompous consulting detective."

"So my brother has become more manageable?"

"Yeah. You could say that, I think the bastard even said please once or twice. I cant recall i was too shocked the first time to hear anything if this is you trying to bully me into warning the Doctor off I dont think I want to. That and I have a feeling your brother wouldnt be to keen on me trying to scare off his friend. That and from the looks of him, that John Watson wouldnt go easily. He's got a stubborn set about him."

"  I know. I've learned this lesson years ago." Lestrade thought he caught an edge of regret or something else an emotion that such a man could not be capable of. Remorse? He disregarded this thought immediately; obviously the DI needed more coffee.

"So what is it you want me to gain from that file?" Lestrade took another gulp of coffee.

"Understanding my dear Detective Inspector. I need an alley in this. I have long given up hope that this little hobby that my brother entertains as a consulting detective is just another whimsical endeavor. It's bad enough he recklessly puts himself into the path of danger but now he seems to have brought along a friend. I would like you to hold off on offering Sherlock any cases. Just for a month or so. Just until this distraction of John Watson is sorted out. You've seen just how dangerous my brother can be when he's distracted. And yesterday was a prime example, the Sherlock Holmes we both know would have easily deduced the possibility of another thug getting the drop on them. He hadn't even considered it, in fact he wouldn't have known of your predicament if John hadn't wondered off. So as I say it's best to allow some time to pass."

"He'll go crazy."

"He'll be safe."

"You and I both know this would lead to a relapse." Lestrade shook his head, leaning back in his own chair arms crossed over his chest.  
"Not this time. He would never jeopardize his friendship-"

"How would you know?"

"Because Detective Inspector-" Mycroft hissed "he has already paid that price." The room was quiet now, Lestrade was glad his wife was out of town for the week, she would have wondered what the hell was going on.

"What-"

"John Watson for reasons beyond my understanding and my brothers, has staid loyal to Sherlock. He has tried to keep him from being to reckless and up until the past five years ago he was successful, but-"

"But?" Lestrade probed gently, seeing now something play across the British Government's face, something like a dark shadow.

"It's of no matter."

"Then why would you be feeling a sense of duty? What did you do?" Lestrade tried to catch the Government's gray eyes with his own, instead Mycroft Holmes concentrated on his umbrella handle clutched tightly in his right hand.

"My family has been nothing but generous with John Watson. We may not be able to understand his loyalty and friendship but we can appreciate it."

"So he was Sherlock's previous babysitter, his minder? Poor man, no wonder he's looking a bit beat down. Perhaps you should have paid him more." This brought the temperature of the room down, those unconcerned gray eyes now turned menacing like gathering storm clouds in the distant horizon.

"He has never been in my employ. Not for lack of trying, even now with that pathetic pension-. This is not your concern. We are getting off subject."

"How long ago did he join the army?" Lestrade wondered glancing at the file, "What six years? Five? Maybe around the time Sherlock started to clean up? Did his joining have something to do with that falling out?"

"That's something you would have to discuss with my brother."

"I will never understand you Holmes brothers. You both seem so concerned for this man, but I'm just not sure out of what-guilt? No you boys don't have the gene or chemical imbalance that allows for this. So what obligates you-is he some relation of yours, or –what do you have to gain?"

"As I 've said Detective Inspector I wish for you to give my brother a month to sort his personal life out."

"Mycroft, it's not up to me. You're his brother. You know how he is. He'll know you were behind this, he'll want to know why. Hell you haven't even given me a good enough reason. I sat down with the man, although a little broken he seems perfectly fine. I only have a little of what Sherlock told me and a bit of what I picked up from John himself. The man is just recently out of the hospital."

"You've had a shining career Detective Inspector, we wouldn't want anything to tarnish that. Good day." Mycroft stood leaving the Detective Inspector mulling over the possible threat. Was it a threat?damn Mycroft Holmes for always seeming to make anything sound like a threat.

He put a hand on the file, curiosity killed the cat. Maybe he could just take a peek, or skim over the Doctor's history.

_**~0~** _

How dare the man! How dare he ask such a question or make such accusations. Mycroft sat in the back of his expensive car, the scenery around him passing by unnoticed. His mind churning over the careless words of an idiot inspector. How could he come to a conclusion that Mycroft had done anything to cause the Doctor harm. Hadnt he always looked out for the boy? It may look to outsiders, like he had done so for personal gain, but what did they know? Peasants, simple thinkers.

Mycroft was all about practicality, and the older Holmes allowed his brother to continue this friendship for practical reasons.


	30. LITTLE BROTHERS

 

 

 

 

**CHAPTER 30. LITTLE BROTHERS  
**

"Let him be Mycroft. He's learning a valuable life lesson."

"Father?" Mycroft turned to look at his father.

"He is learning he cant always say what's on his mind. One must learn when deducing to keep the information for later use. Your brother seems to spill out everyone's secrets without a regard of who it humiliates and angers. When he could really use such things against those that would oppose him."

"Father it's school not politics." Mycroft stood in the foyer his eyes lingering at the top of the staircase where his younger brother had mechanically escaped to. Mycroft had seen the bruises, his brother wouldnt even greet him or father, Rodeny said he was quiet the whole car ride home, from the train station.

"That's what school is really, just on a lesser scale. Boys are much like countries, the bigger ones will always bully the smaller ones. Either you ally yourself with other more well known and powerful countries, or you stand and fight until those who threaten you back down. Your brother unfortunately has yet to figure a strategy out." Mycroft winced inwardly, his brother didnt think a long these lines,he wasnt like that. "Forget about the bothersome little anomaly, tell me about the friends you 've made. And what clubs you've started."

Later after father was called away to the take an important phone call, Mycroft slipped out to find his younger brother.

"I wont be you Mycroft." The dark haired boy was standing in in front of his bedroom window overlooking the garden, he held his violin in his hands, not turning to  meet Mycroft's gray eyes.

"No, I suppose you wont be. Father is always going to be father, I will always be me and you-"

"Will always be just a freak." the younger Holmes finished for his brother in a soft voice.

"Anyway I'm surprised to see you up here, it's only half past noon. Have you and Mr. Watson ended your friendship? I half expected him to be here already." A sad attempt at changing the subject he knew it but still, he had nothing else he could say, comfort was never a strong point in any Holmes, well except mother but she was 'away' at another hospital. "How is the young man? I had heard his aunt came to stay with him and his sister at the end of summer."

"Yes, his father had to go away for a while longer, he was sick."

"Oh, I hope it wasn't serious." Mycroft sat on his brother's neatly made bed, Sherlock had yet to unpack his case.

"Mycroft don't placate me. I know his drunkard father had to go to rehab. I dont know why they insist on letting him go free." The younger boy just gave a shrug, turning to look from the window to his older brother. Mycroft could see a cold hurt in his brother's eyes.

"Well, I'm sure John will be around. He's your assistant after all."

"Just leave me alone Mycroft. Go be with father in his study. Brag about your stupid friends in high places." The older boy wanted to say more but couldn't find the words. The rest of the day his brother refused to come down or leave his room, this went on for two more days. On the third day, there was a commotion in the foyer.

"Where is he?" a young boys voice demanded.

"Mr. Watson-." The butler started.

"Oh, I know he's off for winter holidays. And he doesnt want to see me but,  I just want him to say it to my face." This disturbance naturally brought Mycroft out of the study where he had a hot cup of coco and a newspaper sitting in a comfortable chair near the fire.

He immediately recognized John Watson, who really hadnt grown too much in the few months, he looked thin again, but no bruises lined his face just flushed cheeks from the biting wind. He pushed his brown hood back, the snow brushing to the shoulders of the thin Jacket he wore over the hoodie.  Mycroft didn't think his coat was suitable for the elements even with his brown hoodie under the thin black jacket.

"John I hope you didn't walk, the weather is just dreadful out." The younger boy flashed those blue eyes on Mycroft, and the teenager read challenge.

"Did you put him up to this?" he shook a paper in his red hands.

"John?" Mycroft took the wrinkled paper.

"I want him to tell me to my face." John stubbornly huffed. Mycroft read over the letter in shock.

_John, I believe it is about time to terminate our association. We are completely incompatible as friends. I will not waste your time to explore the issues or reasoning any further. I haven't the patience and nor you the intellect. Any other correspondence will not be answered only returned promptly unopened or recognized. So I will now say goodbye. –Sherlock Holmes._

"Oh forget it. He's up in his room is he? I know the way.Such a drama queen. Bloody stupid-" John marched past the older Holmes like a soldier heading to battle, muttering under his breath. Rodney moved to intercept the young boy but Mycroft put a hand up to halt such action. Sure he wished for such an ill advised friendship to end but clearly something was wrong. He didn't like to see his brother upset, perhaps it was because he reminded him of mummy when she was in such dark moods. So he waited until John was almost at the top of the stairs before he followed.

"John? Why are you here? I thought I was completely clear in my letter." Sherlock greeted his friend in a bored tone. Mycroft could see that Sherlock remained at the window holding his violin, refusing to turn and acknowledge his only friend.

"No actually you weren't. Do you want to explain it to me? Please. Seeing how my intellect is so beneath yours? Did you make some new friends at your fancy school? Can't be seen hanging out with some State School kid?"

"I don't have to explain myself John Watson."

"The hell you don't." Mycroft stood unnoticed in the dark hall he manged to stay hidden due to the fact that the door to his brother's room was just slightly closed. He could see Sherlock with his back to John still standing at the window. John was starting towards his brother. And Mycroft was ready to intercept if he meant any physical harm.

"Go away John. You do know the way out."

"Oh. No. You don't get to brush me off that easy. The least you can do is look me in the eye and tell me why we cant be further associated Mr. High and Mighty. Was it your father or beak face? Your-your new friends?" John's voice dropped down. Mycroft touched his nose wondering who beak face was.

"Sherlock?" he was whistling now, a hand cupped the younger boys chin. "Ouch. That's a pretty good shiner. Not as impressive as the one I had over the summer but it's noteworthy."John received a shrug in reply and the younger boy tried to take a step back pulling away from the hand holding his chin. "You dont wanna talk about it?It's Fine." The blond removed his coat and hoodie, he wore a maroon jumper beneath it, he sat down with a bounce onto Sherlock's bed with a heavy sigh. Sherlock glared at him disapprovingly, John ignored this pulling at his maroon jumper."Don't you dare snicker, my aunt made this for me. I didn't have a choice but to wear it." To Mycroft's surprise his brother turned away to hide a grin.

"Alright, well if you aren't going to talk I'm not leaving. So out with it genius."

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Why not? I'm owed it. I mean didn't I help you investigate that old abandoned bees nest. I almost fell and broke my neck getting it down."

"Well no one told you, and I said I would get it."

"Oh yeah, so you could break your neck?" the blond was leaning back onto Sherlock's bed his feet hanging over the side. "Come on. You know I wont just let this go. Besides it's kind of a long cold walk, so I'd like to know before dark." No answer. "Well this is a turn up. I was going to see if you wanted to build a snow fort. But, I can see you're happy just sulking."

"Why are you my friend John?"

This caught Mycroft as well as John off guard, his brother was looking even more vulnerable it was so out of character. To John's credit he sat up looking thoughtful.

"Well I don't know. That's a good question." Sherlock shook his head.

"I thought so." the younger Holmes sounded defeated and for once he looked his age.

"Hey, I didn't even say anything, so let me finish. You're my friend cause you make me laugh, you're brilliant. You have all the fun adventures. We can sit quietly without a word to each other and it's fine. You never ask me questions about my-about my dad or sister." It was John's turn to lower his voice."I don't know. I cant really explain it but I like hanging out with you. I've never had a little brother. I expect this is what it would be like. Why are you asking?"

"Well some of the boys in my class said that I'm a-freak and they say-"

"Well what do they know?" John was suddenly on his feet in the defensive, "Obviously they're jealous of you being smarter than them, really what do they like to do in their free time fly kites and play footie? You can take apart a kite and make it fly higher. Huh." He nudged the younger boy.

"Well I thought with you starting school and joining the rugby team and-"

"And?"

"That you would have enough friends."

"Sure. I have friends Sherlock. But I've only got one best friend you dolt. And don't you know best friends don't ever get traded in, once you're a best friend it's until death. I will swear on my favorite jumper to it." Mycroft watched his brother start to smile.

"Hopefully not that one John."

"What, but this one is fastly becoming my favorite." he gave his friend a soft shove.

"It's hideous."

"I know. I had to wear it, to appease my aunt."

"You're correct John they're idiots. I hate them all. Even the teachers are dim."

"Well, I'll say one thing they're lucky I'm not going to school with you, I wouldn't be letting them push you around." Sherlock smiled brightly. "Now, if we are done being girlie and stuff I say we take advantage of all the untouched snow out in the gardens and build a fort we can ambush the unsuspecting groundskeeper. And maybe after we can teach you how to properly fight. Take it from me, I've been in more than my fair share of scraps. So I'll give you some pointers. Don't they at least teach you to box in that school?"

"I never really gave it much thought."

"Well, maybe you should, you know fighting can come in handy. When words fail."

"Interesting theory John."

"Go get your warm coat, you'll need boots and some gloves."

"You don't have gloves." Sherlock protested.

"I don't need them. I'm older than you."John smiled easily.

"John, age does not make you superior your circulation is the same as mine, and seeing how we are the same size the elements would affect me the same as you."

"Fine professor. Got an extra pair?"

"Do you think your aunt will let you stay the night." The younger boy gave a tight smile. "Oh, I don't think she'll mind."

"Then it's settled."

Mycroft had to move out of the way before he was seen, later he stood in fathers study looking out over the gardens, his brother was standing with his small fists up as if ready to take a swing.

"Oh, I see your brother is still indulging that boy." Mycroft didn't answer his father moved away from the window.

"Father, it maybe advantageous if maybe they attended the same school."

"Surely you're not saying that I take your brother out of a prestigious school to attend some state-"

"No father. Rather the complete opposite. You see how Sherlock is, his teachers no doubt are at their wits end. Perhaps if he had someone to keep an eye on him. Perhaps rein in the boys reckless impulses, it would be easier on your pocket book as well as the Headmasters nerves."

"I see what your saying." Of course he did, the man only ever understood money or power. "What do you propose?"

Mycroft turned from the window and poured his father another brandy, "Well you could either have Sherlock tutored at home. Or I suggest a scholarship program. Something discrete, and –"

"Mycroft what could we possibly hope to gain from this alliance?"

"The boy father, this John Watson I've looked into him. He has good marks in school, is on the rugby team yes despite his size, he's honest and determined. If you asked the boy what he wants to become he will tell you a Doctor. It would do our reputation perfectly well to be associated with a skilled surgeon. After all there are countless heads of state, politicians and military generals who employ a private physician. " Mycroft knew it to be a stab in the dark but he had nothing else. His brother was miserable and Mycroft couldn't be there to protect him surely he could be allowed just one friend.

"You think this boy-"

"I am only saying father. Isnt it worth a few pounds in tuition to keep the Headmaster out of your hair, Sherlock from causing more trouble and mummy in her fragile state, she wouldn't be upset hearing her precious baby came home next with broken bones. You did say it is a game of alliances and strategy."

His father took another drink of brandy Mycroft was sure to pour more into his glass.

"I want to meet this boy, this John Watson. Then I will judge him myself. Of course we cant let your brother know he'd be against it. All I need is for him to act out even more."

"OF course father. I'll arrange it."

"What of the boy's family?"

"You know these types father I'm sure they would be more than happy to have son go away to a prestigious school on a scholarship. They wont be a problem."

**~0~**

Mycroft didn't tell his brother about his plans to have John go to his school. Instead he went through other lines, he had a friend contact another friend who worked with the schools, they pulled John from his class and offered him a chance. Describing the scholarship program he could join, he needed to write an essay and if he was picked he would be given a chance at a better education. Of course it meant he would be away form home and only to return on holidays.

The younger boy nearly snatched the envelope from the woman's hands. Mycroft of course read over the essay himself, it was well written, John actually had a talent for words. He described his wish to become a doctor and to help people. If anyone else would have been competing against the boy Mycroft knew John would have won. And he was later sent an acceptance letter, Mycroft of course hadn't said a word to Sherlock, and from the correspondence he knew John hadn't said anything in case he didn't get it, so as not to give his brothers hopes up.

After that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were joined at the hip, nearly inseparable. Nearly...


	31. DUES

**CHAPTER 31. DUES**

"John you do understand I did not plan for this night to turn out so-uh"

"Horribly?" John held an ice pack to his head.

"In my defense John, I wasn't the one to bring a date on a crime investigation."

"Are you INSANE! You! You!" John was standing now waving his ice pack at his flatmate, the same flatmate who had the nerve to look completely caught off guard and innocent. "You knew bloody well I had a date tonight and you-"

"Oh, well it was a slight miscommunication wont happen again." Sherlock cleared his throat and went to pick up his violin, "But we did solve the case, that Dimmock shows promise."

John knew from experience it was no use, he collapsed into his chair, trying to hold back a laugh. "That was a bit of a wild ride. Glad it was solved without further casualties. Forgot to tell you thanks for saving our lives."

"Well Captain, you cant believe I would leave you to fend for yourself. Although as it seemed you did have it all under control."

"Control? Those bloody bastards had a gun to my head and to Sarah's. Do you think she'll want to go out again?" John growled irritably wincing as he put the icepack back to his bruised temple.

"John, really. The woman was ill suited for you. She seemed entirely too dull it would have ended sometime, better sooner then later."

"This is Sandra Mcaffee all over again."

"Who?"

"Who!? Don't play dumb you know who I'm talking about!"

"John, despite what you believe I do not keep track of-"

"Oh shut up. I have a headache. I think I'll take some paracetamol and be off to bed."

"So early?"

"So early it's nearly three am. I'm actually for once grateful I haven't a job to go to tomorrow."  
"Oh John, despite your disastrous date, I have a feeling as soon as you are cleared by that idiot child Physical Therapist of yours, Sarah will still hire you."

"You think so?"

"Truly Doctor Watson, it surprises me you have no faith in your medical skill. That woman would prove herself to be a bigger dimwit than I earlier assumed if she didn't hire you. You _**are**_ a skilled physician with plenty of experience. Why you would wish for a dull job is completely baffling, you know you will be bored out of your mind and surrounded with the everyday mundane complaints of geriatric hypochondriacs and mothers suffering from munchausen, not to mention screaming children who excrete all manner of fluids from eyes, mouth and-."

"Alright, alright. I get it. Unfortunately my army pension isn't exactly covering costs so being the mere mortal of a man that I am I need the money."

"Money-" Sherlock snorted "Dull!"

"Yeah, well you wont think it so dull when the power is shut off from lack of payment. Really Sherlock you were going to turn down that arrogant bastards check for-"

"All that matters is the work John. Everything else is just background noise."

"Well first thing I'll be depositing your half of the background noise into the bank. Do you have anything you'll be needing? Nicotine patches or violin strings?"

"John it's a wonder you can concentrate on anything of actual importance with all the clutter that such irrelevant material things cause in your brain."

"Well I am but a simple man Sherlock. By the way, how long have you been in contact with Sebastian?"

"I haven't spoken to him since my last days at UNI, I was surprised that he even bothered to email me." John's sky blue eyes were watchful, Sherlock read the accusation and it almost hurt. "John-I've been clean."

"I wasn't saying you weren't clean. I was a doctor in the opiate capital of the world, I think I have a better eye for drug addiction this time around." Sherlock glanced at his friend looking defeated.

"You had colleagues become addicted." an easy deduction by the way the Doctor had suddenly tensed.

"Yeah, it was a mess but no doctor on my watch is going to be stealing medical supplies or use our medical transports to smuggle drugs out of the country. Anyway, that doesn't matter now, what matters to me right now, is that you are paid the money owed. You really shouldn't work for free Sherlock people would take advantage."

"As long as the case is interesting, money is no issue." John rolled his eyes, at the dismissive tone that his friend took.

"You haven't changed a bit. Well like I said I'll be depositing that into your account. Seeing how I still have your bank card it wont be a problem."

"Goodnight Doctor Watson."

"Goodnight Mr. Holmes. And I expect you to finish that tea and toast. You haven't eaten at all these last couple of days. Cant have my only source of income collapse in the middle of our next case."

"John really even if you didn't have me you would still have your pension." John surprised Sherlock with a snort.

"Yeah, well I have a feeling if I allowed the British Government's younger brother to fall ill, I wouldn't even have that. So now eat up! Doctor's orders!"

This brought a grin to Sherlock's face. "You know I do find humor in the fact that every time something involving Sebastian comes up I'm the one with the damn concussion and bruised face. This isnt lost on me." John pointed out as he started up the stairs to his room.

It was true the first time they had met Sebastian Wilkes was back at UNI. The last time John and Seb's paths crossed had been explosive.

Today the look on Sebs face had been priceless, when John was ushered in, the man half jumped out of his skin, and to John's credit the Doctor gave a polite smile and firm handshake. John did have impeccable manners, something even Mycroft could admire.

**EARLY THAT DAY**

"Sherlock when you said you needed to go to the bank I didn't think you meant THE BANK. What are we doing here?"

"A case John, a case! An old acquaintance of ours emailed me about a potential security breach he wants me to investigate. I thought you could assist seeing how you have nothing better to do but ignore your sisters drunken phone calls. And row with chip and pin machines."

"They aren't drunken, she's been sober for a few months now. And that chip and pin had it coming."

"Oh John, you are so naïve when it comes to Harry's-"

"Sherlock please I don't want to hear it. Besides she's told me more than once she's sober. I believe her. I don't have a reason not to."

"Then why aren't you returning her calls."

"I haven't told her I moved yet. I really don't want to her to worry. And besides I want to be able to report back that I've found a job and I'm back on track. I don't want my problems to bring her down. She's been doing so well." Sherlock snorted at the last part.

"John you're alive your shoulder is healing perfectly and you've found a fantastic flat in a prime London location. You are on the mend John Watson, why wouldn't that be enough to report to the selfish harpy."

"Sherlock-"

"John, I don't understand the loyalty you have towards the woman who has always put you last and herself first. "

"Not always Sherlock. You of all people should understand the complications of family."

"Actually no John I do not. That is why your loyalty confuses me. How often has Harry betrayed you? You are entirely too forgiving." Sherlock still hadn't mentioned the hospital encounter and he wasn't going to upset John with a narrative on that confrontation. Some things were best forgotten, although he could never forgive.

"Sherlock. I know you and Mycroft have had your differences-"

"John that isnt a great example to go off of. My brother and I have a unique relationship, similar to North and South Korea. Always at a stalemate expecting the other to attack first."

"Someday Sherlock you'll see it my way. Our siblings aren't faultless, but they're ours. And family is important."

"Why?"

"Sherlock, no matter what you've done Mycroft has tried to keep your best interests at heart, albeit by unusual means but he's had the best for you in mind."

"Please John my brother has no love for me he only sees an asset in my brain, he sees me as useful, I have no illusions that he wouldn't sell me out for the love of his country or maybe a big piece of chocolate cake and I know Harry would easily choose her vodka over you any day." John rolled his eyes.

"Gentleman sorry to keep you waiting-" John straightened up as a man entered into the posh office where John and Sherlock had been lead into earlier. The mans voice trailed off and he froze in front of his desk mid stride. Eyes focused nervously on John who hadnt even taken notice yet, he was straightening his coat holding a small notebook and pen ready to take notes.

"Seb-" that got John's attention. Sherlock could see his head snap up eyes narrowed, the blond was stiff now like a soldier ready to defend against attack.

"Sher-Sherlock Holmes. I didn't realize you were going to bring a guest." Sebastian Wilkes avoided the Doctor's dark look.

"Right, this is my assistant, you may remember him also from school-" He smiled taking the bankers hand, he could tell the banker hadn't forgotten John Watson.

"John Watson?" Sebastian Wilkes nervously cleared his throat offering his hand and to no surprise of Sherlock's John accepted the quick handshake.

"Actually the Captain here is just fresh out of the army so I guess it's just Doctor Watson." Sherlock happily pointed out.

"Ca-captain? How nice. I'd heard from one of the chaps from the alumni you had joined the army. It's good to see you again uh Doctor Watson."

"Likewise." John replied tightly.

"Well Sebastian do you want to tell us why you've called us here." Sherlock tried to hold back a grin as the ex addict was rubbing his jaw absentmindedly. No doubt recalling the last encounter he had with John Watson.


	32. WARNING SIGNS

 

**CHAPTER 32. WARNING SIGNS**

The room is dark, voices low, "You'll love this mate just relax." Sebs trying to hold down a giggle. "This is my friend Frankie. Frankie is a good pal to have, he brings life to every party."

"I'm sure." Sherlock didn't hold back the sneer in his voice.

Seb was wearing designer jeans, a black blazer over his silk green shirt his red rimmed eyes glassy and dulled, he kept rubbing his nose and Sherlock cringed assuming the aspiring banker had a cold.

Sebastian Wilkes roomed across from Sherlock and John and he usually had such a sour look on his face when they passed in the hall, but tonight his mouth formed the cheesiest of grins, Sherlock fought the urge to punch him in the face.

"Oh, come on now mate. You hardly know me, don't insult me yet. We could be good friends. Sebs here tells me you come from a well to do family. Well I only socialize with the well to do. I like my money up front in the form of cash. You rich boys always seem to have it on hand." Sherlock looked over the younger man with dark brown hair and sharp eyes. Drug dealer, Sherlock deduced easily rolling his eyes. His scientific mind told him all he needed to know about substances and he was not interested in adding to the chemical imbalances he was quite aware he possessed.

"Not interested."

"Oh, now Holmes give it a try." Sebastian leaned back into the leather couch.

"Sebs tells me here you suffer from boredom. This is guaranteed to quiet any demons, to cure any boredom and bring you joy you have yet to know."

"Hardly believable."

"You wont know till you give it a try Holmes." Sebs nudged the Drug Dealer and the man laid the vile of white powder out on the table in the dimly lit room.

"Come on now. I was telling my friend Frankie here you were a proper genius. You could identify what chemicals were which and how much. He didn't believe me. Doesn't think anyone has that ability." The younger Holmes sat back looking around the room, the party music was muffled by the closed doors, it did sound like an interesting experiment.

"Hey is it true you room with that Watson kid?" Sherlock looked up from the white powder that Sebs carefully tapped out onto a large oval mirror.

"Yes. John is my dormmate. Why do you ask?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, hey I'm not interested in him. He's all yours there kid. Just heard from Sebs here he was a med student. I don't normally take on scholarship kids as clients but seeing how he's a close 'friend' of yours I could make an exception. Besides I have lots of med students and premed students on my costumer list. I'm sure your friend would love to sample some of the goods. It does wonders on those long nights of study." Sherlock frowned he accepted what looked like a rolled up banknote and did as Seb had. Thinking of John doing something like this didn't seem plausible. John managed to concentrate fine, well unless some dim witted girl is trying to gain his attention. Like that annoying Rita? Rebecca? Whatever her name was.

In fact he was trying to chat her up, that's why Sherlock decided to wonder off, John always insisted Sherlock accompany him occasionally to "get out " for a bit. Isnt this part of getting out and trying something new?

It's just a chemistry experiment, surely John couldn't fault him that, and it would just be this one time.

Except it hadnt been just one time. It was euphoric just as Frankie promised, everything was suddenly so sharp and all the background noises faded out. It was easy to hide from John, a nagging instinct warned Sherlock that John would be very much against this kind of recreational use of chemicals. Especially when Frankie introduced him to intravenous cocaine, John would definetly not approve but John wasn't his minder he wouldn't need to know.

"Hey! You! Wake up." John's voice was loud, irritating, grating on his nerves, Sherlock only rolled over in bed, but his persistent roomie opened the blinds letting the light in. "Alright Dracula-what the hell happened to you?" John's hand gently touched Sherlock's forehead, cold against the warm. "You look terrible Sherlock. Are you sick? You feel warm."

Sherlock didn't feel like answering, he just wanted to sleep it off, he already texted Frankie, complaining about that last batch not being exactly the superior stuff Sherlock was used to or paid for.

"Why are you here?"

"Well friend I live here and one of the guys on the Rugby teams been saying you haven't been showing up for class. Is that right?"

"Been sick."

"No, not just yesterday or today. He said at all this month. Now I know that cant be because I go to class and you are always gone before me. Care to explain."

"Professor dummy isnt worth my time. It's all a waste."

"Sherlock! You cant be serious. Your dad and Mycroft will flip if they find out-"

"How will they find out John? I'm not telling them and neither are you." Sherlock snapped surely John could see this wasnt the time for lectures.

"Oh? You think so?"

Sherlock sat up dizzily, his muscles cramping and head aching, he held back an urge to swing at his friend. "No, John Watson you will not say a damn thing. It's no ones business what I do with my life. It's my life. And I don't need someone telling me what to do all the time. Not my father, not Mycroft and certainly NOT YOU!"

"Don't you? Look at you. You're a mess. You haven't been going to class, you hardly leave the room except to hang out across the hall with that idiot Sebastian. You know people are saying he's a drug addict-" John paused as if something hit him. Sherlock could see his friends eyes widen and the med student started to really look at his friend.

"Sherlock-"

"Piss off John! It's my life!"

"Look at me dammit!" John had been half way to starting a kettle of tea, now he was across the small room his hands pulling at Sherlock's forearm, nearly ripping the sleeve of an expensive blue button up shirt.

"G'off me!" Sherlock tried to pull away but it was to late the shorter student was examining the bruised forearm, then firmly looking over the other, the med student was hissing.

"How long has this been going on?"

Sherlock didn't answer instead he yanked his arm free throwing himself backwards onto his bed turning to face away from the disappointment in the sky blue of John's eyes.

"Leave it John. You're my friend not my keeper-I have Mycroft I don't need another minder!"

John was moving around now opening drawers and shuffling papers, Sherlock thought he lost something but it came to his throbbing mind what exactly his friend was looking for.

"Leave it alone John. It's not your concern."

"Oh, not my concern? Well listen Sherlock Holmes I'm not going to let you become like those posh rich kids who indulge in drugs and alcohol just to ease their boredom, you arent like them. You're smarter than this! You wont become another drug addict drop out! I wont let you."

"John! I'm not an addict! I'm not your father or sister!" John didn't even flinch he continued to look dumping Sherlock's bag out.

"No? Well one good thing about being the son of a drunk and brother of one too is-"

"You have a high alcohol tolerance. Or maybe a proclivity for boxed wine?"

"Funny. But no, I know all the usual hiding places." John replied coolly heading for the closet he pulled the small collection of hoodies and Sherlock's favorite dark coat. Sherlock growled, the noise was almost too much for his head, his nerves were stretched thin as it was. John needed to go because Frankie would be arriving with more cocaine. "Shouldn't you be in class?" rubbing his throbbing temples.

"Yup. But instead I'm stuck babysitting a six foot tall four year old!"

John found what he was looking for, checking all the usual places. There was a box he didn't need to open it to know he'd found what he was searching for.

"Bingo." He sighed moving out of the closet.

"John." Sherlock challenged.

"Sherlock." John warned.

"Stop John this isnt your business."

"Of course it is!" he barked moving to the bathroom.

Sherlock was up now nearly stumbling over his stiff legs, "Stop!"

"No!" John snapped dumping out the small baggie of white powder the last of Sherlock's back up stash. John cringed seeing the half full syringe, he'd dispose of that in the science lab they had a place for sharps, but first he' get rid of whatever substance was in the syringe. So intent on the disposal of these things he hadnt realized his taller roommate was in the door watching horrified. Sherlock made a grab for the syringe. John quickly ducked under his friends grabbing hand, flushing the powder he through the needle down and stomped on it until the plastic broke apart and spilled out onto the tile of the bathroom.

"John! What do you think you're doing!?"

"This is not going to happen SHERLOCK!" John pushed past his friend carefully placing the needle back in the small wooden cigar box.

His friend blocked his exit. "Move"

"No!"

"Sherlock, move." John hissed through clenched teeth.

"NO!"

"Sherock don't do this. You really don't want to go up against me right now."

"Give me that box John and you can get out."

"You want me to leave fine! I will but I'm taking this box with me!" he shoved past his friend knowing Sherlock wasn't in any condition to fight him.

Sherlock Holmes collapsed onto the couch, glaring at the door that John had just left through with his emergency stash of drugs. He wasn't an addict how could John believe-how could his only friend try and judge him? Him of all people, John was lucky to be allowed-allowed. Oh, Sherlock rubbed his eyes, his palms sweaty his head throbbing. Why couldn't he delete the look of John's disappointment out of his mind? He should go after him, say sorry. No, no he wouldn't be told what to do, but John rarely ever told him what to do, other than to eat, and sleep and wear a coat. Dammit, he wasn't supposed to find his stash, or know. This was Sherlock's fault for underestimating his only friend.

He angrily forced himself off the couch, he would tell John off, and maybe they would come to some kind of agreement. At least that had been what Sherlock's drug addled mind had worked out, until the sounds of angry voices penetrated his carefully laid out reasoning.

"Oh yeah! You think you're better en me? Who the hell do you think you are threatin me?" Sherlock recognized Frankie's voice right away, "Maybe you should give it a try before you knock it."

"Fuck off!" That was John and his voice full of icy rage, that was a tone Sherlock wasn't familiar with. "I'm warning you, I'll give you five seconds to clear out before I call the cops."

"You threatening me Johnny boy?"

"Now calm down lets everyone calm down. We can be civilized-" That was Sebastian trying to play mediator, from the sound of John's fist colliding with the the business student's nose, Seb wasn't a very good peace maker.

"What the hell John!" came a muffled cry.

"Fuck off Seb! You're the reason this filth is in our hall!"

"Who the hell are you calling FILTH! You aint nothing John Watson! You're just a scholarship student! Only reason you got into this place was cause your little boyfriends family! Do you know who I am?"

"Sure, some junkie trash that leeches onto the rich in hopes of elevating himself to their status. Stay down Wilkes or I'll put you down!" John growled. "And News flash Frankie, they only call you for your drugs. You'll never be anything better than dealer trash from-" Sherlock stood at the top of the stairs in time to see the taller boy in the black hoodie connect a hard fist to John's left cheek.

"What about you Scholarship kid? You obviously hang out with Holmes because of his money. You're just as bad s'ept you have em thinkn you two are friends. I was just offering him my friendship. What you jealous I'll take your little boyfriend meal ticket from you?"

John was on his feet tackling the other boy. "He's my friend! Something you wouldn't understand, but I'll put this in terms you can comprehend you will not bring that poison here! Or I'll beat the holy hell out of you! Then I'll call the cops!" John struck out with a hard fist to the side of Frankies face, straddling his chest and holding him by the collar John swung again.

"If you call the police I wont hesitate to point fingers!" Frankie grunted as he tried to pull the kid off of him.

Sherlock watched in awe as the two rolled around and traded punches, until the sound of campus security started to echo from outside. Frankie twisted free "This aint over Watson!" he growled running for the back entrance, John made to follow but Sherlock could see he was hurt, he held a hand to his side, his own t-shirt was ripped and his face bloody. He sank down next to the stairs unaware of his audience.

Sebastian crawled away a hand to his bloody nose.

"John?" Sherlock was crouching next to his friend, something like guilt twisting in his stomach.

"What Sherlock?" the premed student didnt look up from his crouched position.

"You should come back to the room." a plea.

"Yeah?"

"Before the campus security shows up and asks questions."

"Yeah. Fine. I need a minute." John whispered, wincing again his hand to his left side.

"Come on." Sherlock despite his aching head and muscles he leaned down to pull his friend to his feet. The two made their way back up the stairs and safely to their room. Sherlock had paused to pick up the box containing the broken syringe. "I'll get rid of this John."

"I'm serious Sherlock if I see this again I'm telling Mycroft."

"You wont see it again." Sherlock promised, then swore to himself to do a better job at hiding the drugs next time. "I'll get you some ice for your head."


	33. HOUSE CALLS

 

**CHAPTER 33. HOUSE CALLS**

"Dull!" Sherlock tossed his phone aside.

"Dull?" John looked up from his news paper.

"Yes John, DULL! "

"Right, what is so dull now?"

"Today, this morning, this WEEK!"

"Wait it's Tuesday how can the week already be dull." John knew he shouldn't ask but he couldt help it, Sherlock had him scanning the papers for possible crimes, so from his comfortable chair he eyed his agitated flatmate.

"Is it Tuesday?" Sherlock halted his pacing.

"Yes, Sherlock."

"It's worse than I thought!" he groaned.

"What the hell are you on about?"

"John! With Lestrade out _**sick**_ -" Sherlock made a face as if the word sick had a disgusting taste to it. "Dimmock, more like DIMMWIT!"

"Sherlock get to the point." John murmurred.

"Well, officer Dimmwit is in charge and the man's an idiot. He's already texted me twice about a murder suicide."

"Really?"

"Yes the idiot thinks it's two separate cases when clearly IT'S A MURDER SUICIDE!"

"I take it he doesn't believe you." John caught something cross his stubborn flatmates gray eyes. "Sherlock? You did tell him that didn't you?"

"He'll figure it out, eventually."

"He'll figure it-? Sherlock HOLMES" John straightened up "Are you telling me that DI Dimmock has called you to consult on a case, one which you've solved and you have yet to tell him-"

"Something like that John. He called me on two separate cases, which any idiot can see are connected-" Sherlock paused seeing how John was standing now, hands crossed over his chest, lips pressed. He wasn't happy. Why was he upset? Well yes it was upsetting how stupid the Yard could be, but John usually was patient when it came to the everyday mundane dealings with-oh, that's it, oh John and his moral compass and do gooders heart, so exhausting. "You're angry because-You think I should call and tell him." A statement.

"Very good deduction Sherlock."

"But John-"

"Call him now." John ordered firmly, as retrieved his flatmate's mobile from the couch it had been carelessly tossed at.

"But John it's his job-and it's not my fault he isnt competent enough to- John what are you doing?" Sherlock watched as his flatmate started scrolling through phone calls hitting a few more buttons on the touch screen. "Doctor Watson who are you calling?"

"Ah, hello DI, no it's Doctor Watson, yes that one from last night. Oh, kind of you to ask, my heads fine just a bit bruised, yes my ego as well. Right, I was calling because Sherlock wanted to tell you something, I know he is quite the eccentric, yeah I feel sorry for me too sometimes. He couldn't be bothered with the actually dialing of numbers, here he has something very important to tell you regarding the new case you're currently working."

"JOHN WATSON!" Sherlock hissed,

"Do it or get your own nicotine patches, and don't even think I wont have the British government shut down any store within the 2 mile radius that sells you cigarettes after you paid them off-"John held the phone to his chest so the threat wouldn't be heard by anyone except Sherlock.

"Hellooo Dimmock" Sherlock gave his fake smile accompanied by his best imitation of a pleasant and friendly voice.

John rolled his eyes hearing Sherlock's quick deduction, snapping a few answers back at the poor DI and demanding he never call again unless the case is at least an 8!

"Happy now?" he threw himself back onto the sofa pouting, John attempted to keep a straight face.

"So Lestrade is sick?"

"Yes, something like a cold or flu I don't know, don't care. Not my problem."

"Right, well I'm off to the shop. I need to deposit that check and pick up more nicotine patches. Did you want gum?" Sherlock didn't answer he only rolled his eyes irritably.

"I'll take that as a no. We do need milk and we are nearly out of beans." Sherlock ignored John as he was now rummaging through the cabinets making a mental list of food items. "I'll be back." John didn't hold back a grin as he pulled his coat on receiving no reply from a pouting flatmate. "Try not to burn the place to the ground yeah?"

_**~0~** _

John knew it to be a stab in the dark looking up Lestrade's address in the directory, but he tried. When that failed he called poor Dimmock who gratefully texted him the address with directions followed up with a quick text message, pleading for the DI come back to work soon as he is well again, preferably tomorrow.

It was a last minute decision, to make this stop. Based off of what what Sherlock had said to John a few week back, Lestrade's wife had left the man for a gym teacher. It wasn't John's business but he knew from experience being sick wasn't fun as a bachelor. The DI probably had enough friends or colleagues already stopping by to check on him, but John was out and it wasn't out of his way exactly. Besides he did have a bit extra for cab fare compliments Sebastian Wilkes.

Speaking of, John wondered why Sherlock even needed a flatmate in the first place. This had nagged at him for the past couple of weeks. Did Mycroft hold Sherlock's Trust fund still? He could understand, it just seemed like a bit odd, seeing how Sherlock was doing so well on his own and being clean and sober for five years.

Checking his watch as the cab pulled up to a nice little house in a middle class suburb, he climbed out paid the cabbie and approached the blue house with the small white fence. He wondered then if the DI had any children, there were no toys in the yard, the grass was cut and remarkably green for the time of year. He could see flowers attempting to spring up from the flower beds near the stone walkway and the planters under the windows.

He thought of his own family home, Harry had said when mum was alive she'd kept flowers like this but all he could remember were the empty planters and flower beds, neglected. He checked the address once more before knocking firmly, after a few moments he could hear coughing from somewhere in the house.

"I's open!" someone yelled. John didn't understand why he suddenly felt uncomfortable; after all he hardly knew the DI, would he view this as an intrusion? Still John felt obligated, this man had helped keep Sherlock clean, a task that John failed so many times at. He could at least check in on the DI, besides Greg Lestrade did buy him a pint and hadnt pressed him about his history. The good Doctor came to a decision no turning back now, he straightened his shoulders and entered stiffly, like a soldier reporting to duty.


	34. DOCTOR'S

**CHAPTER 34. DOCTOR's  
**

"John?" Lestrade was sitting on his couch a collection of used tissue around his feet, John took a look around it was dim, the curtains were drawn closed and several take away boxes from god knows when were scatted throughout the kitchen, dinning room and bleeding into the living room where Lestrade was now sitting up coughing, and the smell of sick would have turned anyone's stomach but John a war hardened soldier had experienced worse out in the field.

"What's wrong? What's he done now?" John held back a laugh disguising this as a cough, usually that was his line when it came to Sherlock.

"Nothing's wrong. I was just in the area thought I'd pop by. Sherlock said you were sick he asked if I'd check on you." It wasn't exactly a lie.

"He did, did he?" John could see Lestrade doubted this but thankfully a fit of coughing distracted him from any further questioning. John put the bag of supplies he'd picked up at the shop down on the messy counter in the kitchen.

"Here. Put this under your tongue." John handed the man a thermometer. Lestrade frowned eyeing it skeptically. "It's sanitary promise. Come on now say ah." John directed removing his black jacket.

"You just happened to have that on you?"

"Don't you know they issue you one as soon as you start medschool, if you are caught without a thermometer and a pocket of Paracetamol they pull your liscense." Lestrade shot him a confused look, John could see the DI was trying to work out whether he had been joking or not.

After a few seconds the thermometer he'd picked up at the shop just in case he would need it, beeped the good Doctor shook his head glancing down at the number. "Not so bad. But it's a fever nonetheless. Have you been taking anything for it?" Lestrade pointed to an empty bottle of Paracetamol on the table. "When?"

"Uh, yesterday I think."

"Yesterday?"

"Well, I took the last two and haven't exactly felt like shopping." This earned the DI a chastising look.

"Right. Any nausea, vomiting or diarrhea?"

"What?"

"Don't be shy. Reasonable questions. Now just answer them, like I said _I am_ a Doctor."

"All of the above."

"Alright." John eyed the bucket near the couch the source of the foul odor clinging to everything in the room.

"When's the last time-"

"Just thirty minutes ago, I don't think I have anything left to-"

"Here drink this." John produced bottled water with electrolytes Lestrade frowned at the bottle hesitating, " Drink it. You're bit dehydrated mate." John made a quick call on his mobile, Lestrade didn't hear him at all, to busy trying to keep down the water and now the Paracetamol the Doctor was putting into his hands.

"I picked some up at the store."

"Thanks. Sorry if I'm not so social." Greg's voice sounded rough, the Paracetamol was dulling his headache, he started to shiver uncontrollably, what a miserable couple of days. He fought the urge to feel sorry for himself, his wife having packed up and left days ago, on top of this flu made it very difficult.

"It's alright, Detective Inspector. You forget who I live with."

"Call me Greg. Just Greg, might as well. Oh, I bet Sherlock is a little ray of sunshine." John genuinely laughed now.

"Just lay back. Do you have any allergies to antibiotics or medications?"

"No-" Greg felt so tired someone was putting something soft under his head and something else was being laid on his shivering body, a blanket? He drifted into a fevered sleep, unaware of the hard knock at the front door an hour later.

"Here you go Doctor Watson. Sarah said you would need these STAT called in an order to the pharmacy."

"Please thank her for me."

"Yeah. She's taken a sick day. You alright that's quite the bruise on your head."

"Fell, had one too many. You know."

"Oh, yes I know. Been there and done all that. Nice to meet you Doctor Watson, Sarah tells me you might be coming to work with us soon." The male nurse had introduced himself as Flynn when John had turned in his application a week ago reminded John of one of the old army medics he used to pal around with before his injury.

"Yes. Well if she hires me."

"I wouldn't worry about that. Well I best be off. My shift is over. Good luck with your friend. Hope he gets to feeling better. That flu is going around."

John took out an anti nausea patch and applied it to the DI's forearm the man didn't even stir. He glanced around well better get to work the place was a mess the least he could do was pick up a bit and get rid of the smell of sick hovering about the place.

John found the garbage bags, and pulling the nitrile gloves he'd started carrying in his back pocket since the first crime scene he'd visited with Sherlock, John started with clearing out the empty food containers, then the bucket of sick. He was sure to us a lot of bleach and hot water on everything, when he came to the small dinning room table he put the old newspapers in the recycle bin, sure of Lestrade wanted the papers he could pull them out himself. He noticed several files there on the table, probably case files, he should pile them up neatly, knowing how Sherlock was particular about these types of things he thought it best to not mess the order they were in.

The kettle in the kitchen he'd started before his cleaning venture started to boil drawing his attention away from the table, but something kept him there, sticking out from under one of the smaller case files, he didn't know why the letter's peaking out held his curiosity, he could see OHN, H. all caps in bold black letters. He pushed aside the photographs of a pill bottle belonging to one of the other files uncovering the words WATSON, JOHN H.


	35. GOOD INTENTIONS

**CHAPTER 35. GOOD INTENTIONS**

"What the hell?" He grabbed for it, mechanically moving to quiet the kettle. He couldn't hear the sound of Lestrade coughing, or the shuffle of feet on the newly mopped hard wood floor. Blood roared in his ears as he laid the file down opening it up, there was his life, not all of it but a big chunk of it typed out, organized imperfection all documented.

Were those his therapist notes? Pictures a pediatrician had taken to document a young boy's bruises, before the court had ordered the boy's (him) dad to rehab.

That was before John won that first scholarship a definite escape from the hell he lived at home. His stomach clinched, his fathers accident was in there, every nightmare incident of childhood, even his sisters rehab stints, her alcohol poisoning- he gulped down the anger. How did it get here, this file? Why would it be here? Just laying on the table for anyone to come by and see. To casually read through like a gossip column, his life all compiled here for someone to pass their time.

The words confidential printed across the middle of the brown folder. Pictures, so many pictures one of a house that looked like a tornado had hit, an upturned table and chairs, a broken telly, shattered pictures holes in the wall, a wrecked car, notes from several Doctors-his service record, the medals earned. More therapist notes, even his physical therapy records.

**~0~**

A few hours had pasted without Lestrade knowing, he heard the sound of a kettle and it roused him from his deep sleep. He sat up wondering about the blanket that someone had thrown over him, he thought even with a stuffy nose he could smell disinfectant and bleach, and something else, chicken soup?

Someone was in the kitchen, his heart did a flip thinking it his wife. But the familiar black jacket draped over the side of the blue love seat reminded him it was John, had John cleaned up? The place looked brand new, even the tissues he had thrown around his feet had been cleared out, a fresh box on the table with a half empty bottle of water. His bucket was gone, all of this so spotless.

Feeling ten times better he pulled off his robe damp from sweat and god knows what else. Hang on, when did he put a nicotine patch on? No this wasn't a nicotine patch it was something else, it was for nausea he recalled Sherlock picking at one similar to this, one that a Doctor had prescribed during a particularly nasty fever Sherlock battled due to an infection he contracted from a knife wound he neglected to properly take care of.

Good thing the consulting detective had a live in Doctor now, John Watson would definitely be useful in those types of situations. Speaking of, where was the man, his coat was still here, Lestrade moved slowly towards the kitchen, marveling at the cleanliness of his home, he hadnt meant to let it get out of hand but he didn't have the motivation to clean when he was busy, his wife was gone and then he had this damn flu.

God he needed a shower, and bad, how embarrassing to be seen like this. If anyone from the yard had stopped in, which none of his friends or colleagues had, he would have been embarrassed as all hell but somehow it didn't bother him that Doctor Watson, or John as he said to call him, had seen this.

He paused near the now neatly cleared dining room table, frowning at the files that were sitting at the end next to what looked like several prescription medications, at a glance he could read his name. When had John retrived those, how did he know what he would need? His eyes fell on the files and from where he stood he could see the younger man at the counter, his shoulders stiff, head bowed, but that wasn't what held Lestrades attention it was how tightly the younger man gripped the counter, as if hanging on for dear life, his knuckles almost white.

Lestrade knew what the young Doctor was looking over, turning back to the table he could see one of the four files was missing,

"Shit-" he hissed out loud the ex soldier's head snapped up he turned slowly his sky blue eyes and pale face almost unreadable. "John-I"

"Sit." Greg winced at the hard command, "I sad sit down Detective Inspector, you're still not well." Greg didn't have any reason to argue, he did feel light headed. Why had he kept the file, he had debated all week whether or not to read it or return it? Knowing that anything Mycroft gave freely always came with hidden strings attached.

"John-"

"Here. Take two of both of these every four hours, and that patch has another two hours left on it before you'll need to switch it out with another. They are good for four hours. I made tea drink this with your pills. Fluids are always good. Saltines will help ease your stomach, and I've heated you some chicken soup. There is enough to put away for heating up in the microwave later." Greg cringed hearing the formal tone in which John or Doctor Watson was using. "Any questions?"

"John about the-"

"I meant about the medications and the directions?" Lestrade shook his head. "Good. Now that's out of the way-" John took a deep breath, his hands now gripping the folder brown folder. "Why do you have this?"

"John I can explain-"

"No, save it! I don't care it doesn't matter. It's-Did you have fun reading it? How far did you get? It makes for a boring read I'm sure. The pictures hold your attention. Hell I thought those records were locked away. Find it real attention-grabbing those pictures? Did it say I was eight? That my father wasn't a bad man, that I just was an easy outlet for his frustration and anger, that he was a hard working man everyone loved him, it wasn't till he had a few drinks in him was he a right bastard. No I'm sure that part was left out, were the pictures of my shoulder fascinating? I kind of skipped over the childhood pictures myself, no reason to read over that. But I did notice they left out the part after my shoulder injury that the kid I was trying to help died on that battlefield.

That kid much younger than myself would never go home to his parents because they left him there his body torn apart by a bombs blast. His name was Joshua Wilson, sure they have my medals in there but they don't say how many died under my knife, how many I couldn't save but promised-all good men. Better than me, so much more to live for, fathers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, some ones somebody. How about the bit about my father running the car into the tree? My sisters numerous incidents of alcohol poisoning because she was to dim to know how many were too many.

We Watsons just don't know how to have just ONE!" John clinched his fists, "The psychosomatic limp, the tremors and nightmares? I like to sleep, but it's not so easy when you close your eyes and can hear the dead screaming for your help. Help I was too late to provide." John tossed the folder from him allowing it to fall open in front of Lestrade. The ex soldier tried to keep the edge from the growl of his voice, a shaking hand running through his neatly cropped hair.

"It's not your business! It's mine. Had you asked me-if you would have asked I'd of eventually told you. Well not all of it but maybe some of it. But that was my choice! My choice!" John thumped his palm against his chest. "Dont I deserve that much, I mean I did serve my country. Cant I have this courtesy?"

"John I didn't-"

"Why? Just tell me why? Is it because you thought I was suspicious?"

"John. Understand after you-after you turned up out of nowhere with Sherlock, and suddenly I hear you've moved in. You have to know how he is. Of course I'm going to look into who he's allowing to live with him. You know his past, you know what he was-"

"If you would have asked-just asked. I'd of told you-we grew up together, we went to school together, I left for the army and when I was discharged I bumped back into him. I must come off worse than I first assumed, do I look that bad that you would run a back ground check?"

"John now hold on it's not like that. You took out a 25O pound Russian! With ease! Of course I'm going to worry. And not to mention that suspicious shooting of a certain cabbie that just happened to be threatening Sherlock." John stiffened now, the color draining from his face. "So I had questions."

"Let me guess" John put his hands over his eyes, rubbing his lids, a headache starting to form. "Mycroft came up with this. He's always just so helpful isnt he? Did he tell you to keep an eye on me too. Doesn't trust I wont be a danger to his little brother? "

"It wasn't like that John- he was concerned."

"Right, he always has the best of intentions!" John spat. "Well so you can put your mind and his at rest, just keep it. All the good you'll find in it!"

"John. I wasn't going to read it. I had every intention to return it to Mycroft. Or bin it." John shrugged this excuse off no longer meeting the DI's apologetic expression.

"We all have secrets we'd like to keep private. What skeletons do you have Detective Inspector? Lucky you, you're not the object of Mycroft's _concern,_ don't forget your medication. Every four hours. If you're fever comes back and persists one more day check yourself into the clinic." John moved past the DI heading for the door. It wasn't until an hour after he'd left Lestrade wondered back into the living room, noticing that John left his jacket behind.

He thought to text Mycroft but instead decided against it, let the bastard face some of that quiet man's wrath. He sank down onto the couch rubbing his aching temples. Well that went well. And wait was John's face bruised?

After several blocks John hailed a cab, he just wanted to go home, he'd tell Mycroft off next time he had a chance but right now he needed a hot shower, a warm cup of tea and a long nap. And it had started out to be such a somewhat nice day.


	36. RELATIONS

**CHAPTER 36. RELATIONS**

Harry checked the address she'd scribbled down on the back of her manicured hand, she noted the chipped red nail polish gloomily. This was it, 221B, some desperate guy at the invalid home that her brother was living at up until a month or so ago, had given it to her. All she had to do was unbutton a few black buttons of her red blouse, child's play the idiot didn't even know what hit him. Now why would Johnny move without letting her know, and how the hell was he able to afford this place.

She had just moved back to London herself and lived in a less than decent neighborhood in some tiny little flat, it wasn't a bad place to live it was her's, but still she would appreciate something bigger.

She tried phoning earlier in the week and of course it went straight to voice mail. Annoying, why the hell was he avoiding his big sister? Harry just wanted to check on him. And of course she needed his signature on the papers to sell their childhood home.

Good riddance to bad memories, the sooner she could cash out the better, not that either of them would ever live in that shit hole again.

"Oh hello. May I help you?" An older woman dressed in some old house dress straight out of the WWII era smiled brightly.

"Yes, hello. I'm hoping I have the right place. Is this the residence of Johnny-I mean John Watson."

"Doctor Watson. Yes. He lives upstairs. I'm not sure if he's back." The older woman ran a curious glance over Harry, who forgot her blouse was still scandalously revealing, she hadn't even buttoned her black peacoat, She tossed her shoulder length blond hair over her thin shoulders. Glaring at the old woman not caring for the look she was getting. "But I'm sure he'll be back soon. He just popped off to the grocery store. Are you here on business?"

"Yeah. Business, as in my own. Not yours." Harry snapped hating the cold spring wind hitting at her nylon clad legs, perhaps the gray pin skirt hadn't been the best idea but she was just getting off of work. Only having to work a half day, and she needed to get this done. She wanted and needed to use the money and get a better flat. From the looks of it, Johnny was doing good, he wouldn't need any of the cash.

"Well no need to be rude dear, come in then. You can wait upstairs, its warmer and I'm sure-"

"Whatever just lead the way." Harry cut her off. Mrs. Hudson sighed wondering who this woman with the piercing blue eyes and sharp tongue could be. Surely the young Doctor wouldn't date someone of such bad character, Mrs. Hudson could tell a bad apple from a mile away. She'd lived with one for a good many years, this girl screamed troubled, sure she had a perfectly made up face but those eyes. Those eyes were cold and hard, like the blond had seen too many rainy days to ever find the sun again.

And the way she dressed, it was freezing out and this young woman didn't even button up her coat, her cleavage nearly falling out onto the street, really not everyone cared to know what color of bra the blond was wearing. In her day there was a word for a girl dressed like this and well Mrs. Hudson was to polite to even think it, but if the shoe fits-

Maybe she was client? But why did she ask for the doctor? Then again her black leather handbag was big and fashionable, big enough to hold business documents. Maybe she was serving the doctor papers? No, she shot that thought away almost immediately, because the Doctor wasn't married and he had barely been home from the army so no one could be suing him.

Oh, better let Sherlock straighten it out. He'd bring little Miss High and mighty down a notch, serves her right.

She knocked on the opened front door, "Woo hoo. Sherlock Dear there is a er-ah young woman here for Doctor Watson." Harry thought she'd heard the old granny wrong. Had she said Sherlock?

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson-" Sherlock turned around irritably "John's still out-" his words faltered, Mrs. Hudson felt the air in the room drop from a warm cozy temperature to something below freezing. Oh, dear, perhaps she should have sent the blond woman off and taken a message instead.

"Should I make some tea then?" The elderly landlady asked hoping to ease the tension, tea always did this, they were British after all.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, that wont be necessary she wont be staying. Thanks for visiting Harriett but John's not in, please leave a message and I'll be sure to not relay it." Sherlock spoke quickly and dismissively waving his hand as if at a fly.

"You! You bastard! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Language!" Mrs. Hudson chided.

"Shut it grams no one asked you."

"Mrs. Hudson please excuse Harriett she hasn't had her afternoon drink. If you're looking for vodka Harriet, I'm sure the bar around the corner would let you drink straight from the bottle just as you like it. And you'd be able to afford the cheap prices. Just you're type of atmosphere. I hear they have quite the selection of boxed wine. " Harriette straightened her shoulders, her lip curling she clutched her purse as if ready to swing it at the taller man.

"Oh, I see you've managed to keep your sense of humor. Funny, I hardly recognized you without the needle in your arm."

"Oh, well. I didn't expect you would be around so soon, but I guess you're all cured after what a week in rehab?"

"Said the addict-" Harry growled.

"Oh, Harriett-"  
"Stop calling me Harriet Sherlylocks!"

"Alright now, no need to be rude dear, perhaps you would like to wait downstairs for the good Doctor or I could take a message-"

"Who the hell are you? Why don't you butt out." Harriet snapped.

"Do refrain from abusing our landlady Harriett she would have every right to toss you out on your backside, in fact I would love to personally grant that request."

"Fuck off! I'd like to see you try! Now answer my goddamn question. Why are you here? Where's John?"

"He went to pick up groceries. And I live here."

"With John?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"No Father Christmas. Yes with John."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me! So history is repeating itself? What you didn't get your chance to kill him once, you wanted to try again?" Mrs. Hudson gasped at such harsh words.

"Jealous Harriet?"  
"Of you?" the blond woman laughed bitterly. "That's a joke. Tell me is daddy paying for the place? He know John's bunking with you?"

"He's dead."

"Oh, huh-he off himself finally? Or did you and big brother have him snuffed out?"

"No, cancer got him. To bad he didn't go the easy way by way of wrapping his car around a tree after drinking himself stupid trying to forget the disappointment of a daughter-"

"You bastard! You bloody bastard!"

"That is enough!" Mrs. Hudson stood between the two her voice stern.

"Now, Sherlock that is no way to talk to a friend of Doctor Watson, or acquaintance. And as for you young lady-"

"She's no friend of John's Mrs. Hudson. She has no friends."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black FREAK!" Harriette ignored the older woman trying to defuse the situation. "I told you to stay away from him! You're the reason he's ignoring me? What did you cry to him about the hospital?"

"No. It's his choice to avoid your pity calls. He doesn't need you acting like you care. Do you think he cant see through your little charade?"

"I warned you and your brother at the hospital to steer clear of my brother! He is in a fragile enough state! It's you Holmeses that are to blame! You both! Practically held the pen in his hand."

"Harriet he doesn't regret joining the army."

"How would you know? Look what it's done to him! He's barely a shadow of what he was! He had such a bright future. And he could get his life back, without mixing up with you lot! He doesn't need your charity. Don't think I'm as dense as he is, I know who's paying for his expensive therapy and it isn't the army. That fancy hospital room, all of it was out of guilt. Tell me, did he forgive you right away? Immediately? Did you wait for him to be desperately looking for a flat, down on his luck? Before you decided to swoop in and **_save the day_**? Or does Mycroft need a babysitter again?"

"Harriette you might want to shut up." Sherlock's voice dropped but the blond woman wouldn't be told what to do.

"No. No I wont take orders from the likes of you. Your just another junkie hiding behind old money. I should have put a restraining order on the both of you while Johnny was still unconscious."

If Harriett hadn't been so intent on going off on the tall dark haired man, she'd of noticed that the gray eyes were looking at someone directly behind her. It wasn't until that someone spoke that she realized her mistake.

"Harry?"

"Oh, Doctor Watson." Mrs. Hudson frowned, her hands clutched together, she looked to Sherlock than the young woman.

That rude young girl was the Doctor's older sister? Had he been adopted? Looking at the two now, Mrs. Hudson could see a tiny resemblance, Harriett was definitely taller than her brother. They had similar hair coloring, and their eyes could be the same shade, except the Doctor had a kindness about him, his eyes were a sky blue, reminding the older woman of a clear spring afternoon, cloudless and sunny. Whereas Harriette's were the same sky but more cloudy like a nearing spring thunderstorm.

"Johnny?" Harry tried to think back to what she 'd said, how long had he been standing there? It was that walking computer's fault! He tricked her!

"Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson will you excuse us." John's voice was eerily calm.

"Come along Sherlock, I have fresh scones downstairs." Sherlock reluctantly allowed himself to be lead out, disappointed when the door was shut behind him by a very agitated John.

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock sat in the kitchen sipping tea, eyes rolled upwards towards the ceiling, unable to ignore the shouts coming from upstairs.

"Harpy." Sherlock grumbled. "Useless-" Mrs. Hudson remained quiet, until finally after twenty minutes the door to the flat upstairs, slammed and high heeled feet clicked along the stairs and out through the front followed by heavier booted feet.

"Here Harry. I signed it."

"Whatever John, don't pretend you're angry with me. We both know you hate that place as much as me. Hope you two are very happy together. Don't come crying to me when he tosses you out on your ass again. I won't be there to pick up whatever is left of you."

"Harry-"

"Stop, just stop. I'm not arguing. I'm not going to apologize for what I did at the hospital. Once again you choose them over your only family. Seeing how you have such a nice life, a shining career as a doctor and a new family, you wont mind if I keep your half of the money from the house's sale would you?" John didn't reply. "Goodbye John." Harry turned on her heels, head high she marched away.


	37. LUCK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luck, because sometimes we need it.

**CHAPTER 37. LUCK**

"Oh! Doctor Watson! Thank goodness! Lucky me!" John paused he was about to remove his white lab coat, when a very flustered Doctor Bales hurried towards him. Her more white than black pony tail swishing behind her madly, and she pushed her horned rimmed glasses up her nose.

"Doctor Bales?"

"Doctor I know it's the end of your shift but Rita called in sick, I've called Hill to replace her but he wont be in for another four hours could you please-"

John was exhausted and his shoulder was still acting up after the whole banker case several weeks ago, but one look at the hopeful green eyes of the older woman John couldn't say no.

"A couple hours, sure."

"Oh, praise the lord. Lets get you some coffee or tea? And back out you go."

"No, no tea or coffee needed Doctor." John smiled trying to keep the long day from dragging him down. "Just lead the way."

"I am so glad Sarah sent you over to us. Maybe I should start hiring more soldiers, your lot tend to be more agreeable and less likely to call in sick. With what I would guess is the brown bottle flu." John tried to hold back a laugh, wondering if Doctor Rita Phillips was really hung over, it had been her birthday yesterday.

"Please! We've been waiting in here for over an hour! My son is sick and needs to be seen! It isnt like him to cry like this, he's in pain." A young red haired woman insisted. John noticed how Agnes the triage nurse scrutinized the younger women in what looked like a waitress uniform.

John could hear the fear and exhaustion in the young mothers voice, as she held a sobbing dark haired child wrapped in a fluffy green blanket, "Please cant we be next?"

"Miss I've told you, you must wait your turn. People will be seen in the order they are brought in and severity of their emergency. Now please sit and wait your turn!"

"Fine, I hope he gets sick all over your damn waiting room floor." The younger woman growled returning to her seat in the crowded A&E.

"Ugh, another one. All week it's these new mothers with their screamin kids. It's probably another kid with molars or something coming in." John didn't reply he could see the urgency in the younger woman, and sure the lobby was filled with the usual late night incidents of drinking, dares gone wrong and drug addled homeless, so John asked for the chart.

"I'll take her." Glancing down at the name, Ian Kelly age four.

"Doctor Watson it isnt her turn-"

"I'll take her chart." John replied forcibly and the gray haired nurse just rolled her eyes. "On your head be it. They'll think they can make demands, and looking at her she's probably not even married-"

John didn't reply taking the clipboard he went over to the young mother who looked close to tears herself.

"Kelly? Ian Kelly?" John approached the young woman.

"Oh thank god."

"I'm Doctor Watson, Right this way-"

"Gloria, my name is Gloria."

"Right this way Gloria, lets get him looked over."

"John-there is a way we do things you cant just skip over protocols we have a triage nurse for a reason. You do understand what the purpose of triage is-" Doctor Bales who just caught an ear full from the admissions desk pulled Doctor Watson aside as he made to enter the examine room behind the red haired woman.

"Yes Doctor I do know what triage is, I've been on the front lines where it's life or death. Sorting the wounded from the dead, _the hopeless_ and the _if they're lucky enoughs_ , so choosing from a drunk who hit his head when trying to get into his car now needing stitches, a woman who swears she sees dead people, and a few idiot university students who may or may not have eaten a live goldfish on a dare, and of course the drug addicts looking for a fix by claiming some internal injury, or stomach upset, isnt really a hard choice to make." He smiled brightly turning to go back into the room. The older Doctor frowned.

John was in the room with Mrs. Kelly she tried to bounce her son but his cries became louder and more urgent.

"Go on Gloria lay him down on the table lets have a look." The younger mother did as the Doctor said, she put a hand in her sons brown curls.

"Sssh, Ian it's going to be fine." She looked at the Doctor, "Thank you. I know it's not our turn but, he's not usually like this."

"How long has he been running this fever?" A nurse started taking vitals and John checked the temperature.

"I gave him some children's medicine but it hasn't helped, he just started running the fever a few hours ago, and he's been sick all day, diarrhea and throwing up. He says his tummy hurts but I haven't been able to keep anything in him." John maintained a calm demeanor listing to the woman and his hands moved over the boys small frame.

"It horts mummy." The child sobbed.

"Hello Ian, my boy. I'm Doctor Watson. Can you tell me where your tummy hurts?" John spoke gently shining a light into the young boys eyes.

The young boy scrunched up his face. And pointed to his side, John already guessed, when he moved his hands over the navel area the boy sent a hard kick aimed directly for his own abdomen, luckily John moved before the red socked feet caught him.

"Don't touch me! I said it horts!" the boy started sobbing all over again, John turned to the nurse who stood ready for her next orders.

An hour later John went to checked back on the young patient.

"Oh, Doctor Watson that appendicitis kid is out of surgery, everything went well. Nice catch, damn mess it would have been if it had ruptured and it was nearly there." Doctor Hall gave John a hard pat on the back, ignoring the doctor's sudden gasp in pain and his stiffening body, his shoulder still sore that little love tap wasn't comfortable nor did the doctor appreciate being touched. "I think the boys father just got in, good timing I say. Have a good one Doc. I'm off to operate on a broken leg! Some love struck idiot climbing a tree after a cat, for his girlfriend. Can you believe it? Here I thought I've seen it all."

John took a deep breath, this was turning out to be a fun night, he'd been puked on twice, one of the kids tried to bite him, he'd been kicked more times than he had been able to dodge, his shins and stomach ached from the nights abuse. Oh and let's not leave out the snot that covered his white lab coat in a lovely shade of green. He inspected the clean replacement coat wondering how long it would go before meeting the same fate as the last. The bright side was the night was nearly over.

That and at least that Kelly boy was fine and John was making his way to check on the young boy after changing his own lab coat. The room wasn't hard to find, the red haired woman was sitting next to her sleeping son, a man John suspected was her husband standing with a hand resting on her shoulder.

Ian Kelly was very lucky to have two loving parents, both now watching the monitors beep steadily, Gloria held one hand on her shoulder and the other hand rested on the sleeping boy's small chest.

The red headed woman greeted John with an exhausted smile, her eyes red rimmed.

"Just checking in on our football player." John explained checking over the chart, even with the surgeon letting him know it all went well, John wanted to be sure for himself.

"Oh, Doctor Watson. I'm so glad, thank you so much. And this is my husband, Tim." She was standing now, turning to the man behind her "Timmy this is the nice Doctor." John felt uncomfortable he didn't like praise for doing his job.

"Doctor Watson?" The man was taking John's hand, shaking it firmly. Stepping directly in front of him John could see the man was wearing a policeman's uniform. "I didn't know you worked here doc. What a coincidence!" Tim was still shaking John's hand. "Babes, this is the Doctor-the one who works with that genius fellow, consults with the yard."

"Oh, officer Kelly, hardly recognized you-" John's voice came out unsteadily due to the fact his arm was about to be ripped off of his shoulder.

"Yeah, not covered in blood. I know. I'm taller standing up. "

"Honey give the man his hand back." Gloria ordered gently placing a hand on her husbands forearm.

"Oh sorry." Officer Kelly released John's hand sheepishly he held his hat in his hands now. John didn't have a chance to tell him it was fine before the man's wife was embracing him in a tight hold. John would have preferred the hand shake.

"Honey, let the man go-" her husband pulled her gently back after an uncomfortable length of time, where John just stood stiffly, unresponsive except for the deep red flush to his face.

"Sorry." Gloria wiped her tears now, sniffing. "Thank you doctor. You saved my boys."

"Well-um. If you have any questions-"

"Yeah, actually Doc, what can he eat when we get him home?"

John eased now into Doctor mode, this he could do, pushing all discomfort aside he listened to the concerns of two very young parents and tried to ease their fears.

"Doctor Watson there you are, got another one, room sixteen." Nurse Tori smiled kindly at the officer and the waitress.

"I never knew you were a hugger." Nurse Tori grinned handing over the clipboard for the next patient.

"I'm not."

"You sure?"

"Just give me the chart, don't you have vitals to take." Nurse Tori smiled brightly.

"Oh but I did Doc, look there." She pointed out her notes on the chart, " Since you love kids so much we got another one. See, if you anger old Agnes the triage nurse, she'll keep assigning you the fun ones."

"Wonderful." John frowned looking at the chart. "Looks like a broken wrist."

"Yeah, looks like it. Be careful Doc the dad seems a bit short tempered, if you ask me he's been hitting the bottle a bit tonight. Kept demanding why I need to check for temperature and blood pressure. Been standoffish about the questions I've asked."

"Oh joy." John sighed heading towards room sixteen.

"Another doctor? Cant we just get this done! I'd like to be home, I've got work in the morning and this ones got school." John checked the chart.

"Mr. Reece?"

"Yeah s'me." The man in the dirty coveralls growled.

"It's Friday. Are they sending kids to school on Saturdays now?"

"Not the point." The black haired man growled his hands on his hips. "I've got shit to do. Just hurry up. Wrap the damn thing and bill me later."

Officer Kelly was about to call into work, he should let them know he'd need the rest of the night off, his son would be discharged tomorrow but his family needed him here.

Poor Gloria looked so exhausted he decided to go for tea rather than coffee, she'd need her sleep, and the uncomfortable hospital chairs weren't going to be much help.

Unlike the rushed surgeon who acted as if any questions the couple had were unimportant and trivial, Doctor Watson had taken the time to explain the recovery process.

Kelly couldn't believe his luck, his wife was swearing that Doctor Watson was a saint. This was two the officer owed the man, and next time he heard anyone say anything about the Doctor being a loyal dog or a love starved puppy belonging to that Holmes character, Kelly would pop them straight in the damn mouth.

Kelly knew his wife and mother in law would be making the Doctor some fresh biscuits and their signature apple crumble. Gloria was already pointing out how thin the good Doctor was. Tim thought the Doctor was looking lots better than the last time he'd seen him, but he knew his Gloria would want to plump the man right up she couldn't help it. He patted his own belly thank god he had a high metabolism or he'd be a very fat man.

"Officer!" someone yelled to him, it was that nurse from earlier the one who had been talking with Doctor Watson. "Officer!" she was waving to him frantically looking pale.


	38. ENOUGH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enough is enough. John puts his foot down, and fist as well.

**CHAPTER 38. ENOUGH**

Mathew Reece had a black eye, left side, holding an ice pack to a swollen right wrist, most likely broken. Mathew kept his head down when asked questions he only looked over at his father as if needing the man's approval. John Knew something was very wrong, and his own life experience and doctor's instincts told him exactly what was going on.

Nurse Tori had stepped out unnoticed, to call security after the line of questioning had gone from John asking the boy his birthday to the boy's father suddenly spouting off obscenities. John had only tried to defuse the situation, using the excuse of x-rays, which wasn't really an excuse, the boy did need x-rays. This led to the boy's father already agitated to start swearing at John, and that's when things got ugly, going from bad to worse.

John appeared calm and unafraid on the outside but inside his heart threatened to pound out of his chest, he eyed the boy's father who had produced a utility knife from one of his pockets and stood directly beside the young boy.

"You think your better'en me?" the larger man growled.

"Da-" the ten year old boy with the greenest eyes and very red hair tried to calm his father. The pleading voice cracking, made John wince, memories from his own childhood threatened.

"Shut it!" the man warned. "Not another word from you! Worthless brat, look at the trouble you keep causin." For a moment John thought he heard his own father speaking, saw his own drunk of a father ready to strike at any supposed sign of disrespect or disobedience.

John had learned to stand still to try and not to breathe too loudly, knowing what happened if he drew the attention of his volatile parent. That was when he was a child, he wasn't a child anymore and his father wasn't in this room.

He needed to focus, the sound of Nurse Tori calling to someone in the hall snapped John out of his memories.

"Just calm down Mr. Reece." Doctor Watson needed to get the man to focus his anger on a different target, one who could swing back, one that wanted so desperately to put that utility knife in the mans heart. For all the good it would do, he probably didn't have one.

Swearing at his own stupidity, he should have see this coming. He pegged the man right off as an abusive parent; the damn falling down the stairs story was so played out. Did that even convince anyone?

Was there an abusive parent's hand book with a page dedicated to generic explanations? The old reason, _he fell down the stairs, he fell off his bike, out of a tree,_ all of them, John had heard and it sickened him to remember how his doctor's always believed it or they just didn't care.

Sherlock was right, people often saw but did not observe. Reading the boys fear and there it was the resignation made John feel as if his lunch was going to come up. Green eyes briefly avoided the Doctor's blue, before moving back to the man looming over him, with a utility knife.

So now it was a stand off.

"He doesn't go anywhere with out me! Now, just wrap it! They always just wrap it!" the man demanded pointing it at the Doctor then the boy.

Again John clenched and unclenched his hands, then with the steadiest of voices he spoke to the child's father.

"I understand that Mr. Reece and you can join Matthew as soon as the nurse finishes prepping him for the x-ray. Now let's put that away. There's no need for it. No one's taking anything from you." This was a deliberate lie but John would do anything to convince the man at this point. All that mattered was that frightened kid getting out of this in one piece.

"Yeah? Why'r ya asking me all these questions. You making accusations."

"Dad, the nurse only wanted to know when this happened. Please-"

"I said ta shut up!" that's all John needed instincts took over when the man brought his left arm up to back hand the boy. The Doctor caught the meaty man's wrist, grabbing for the left was a mistake seeing how it left him open for attack by the utility knife in the man's right hand. Still John would rather be cut to shreds then see this kid hit by a grown man's heavy hand.

"None of that now." John growled wrenching the man's wrist back hearing a familiar snapping. John knew he needed to get this monster away from the young boy and quickly. "Hurts doesn't it" John grunted, disarming and shoving Mr. Reece hard against the far wall knocking over one of the silver trays that held instruments for sutures and plasters of several sizes.

Thinking quick the ex army Doctor, picked up the shiny metal tray and swung hitting the now charging larger man hard across the left side of the face.

This was enough to stun the bastard, causing him to tumble backwards against the door frame.

The young boy watched in astonishment, the kid looked up at John with a sense of awe from the exam table. Apparently no one had put his bully of a father down like that before.

"Come on Matthew I think your dad needs to sleep it off." John offered a hand to help the boy off the table but Matthew flinched away, choosing to jump down from the table instead.

Still the young boy gave John a quick grin, "Will they take him away?" said with a heartbreaking hopefulness.

"They better." John replied breathlessly. "I wont let him hurt you."

"You wont take my boy!" the man snarled standing and blocking the door, John swore under his breath. The Doctor made sure to put himself between the bigger man and the small boy.

He was surprised by the sudden urge to rip the man apart, the only thing holding him back was the presence of a young boy who'd lived with enough violence, John knew the kid didn't need to see that. He'd been through enough, enough was enough.

John readied himself for the lunge, pushing the boy into the far corner, hoping to inch him closer to the door, damn these rooms were way to small.

Mr. Reece never made the lunge, or managed a swing, a pair of steady hands firmly gripped the beefy man's shoulders pulling him backwards through the doorway into the corridor, slamming the surprised man into the white tiled floor.

"That'll be enough I think." Officer Kelly growled. "You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something, which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"Fuck off!"

"Right. Duly noted." Kelly pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pockets, technically he was still on duty. He frowned at the swelling wrist of the bigger man.

"Sorry big man. They'll have to take these off after you calm a bit and can have a doctor look at that wrist it might be broken."

Kelly had some help keeping the man down as two more hospital security men and another constable who had been picking up a drunk disorderly, arrived to pull the bigger man to his feet.

"You alright doc?" Kelly asked. Eying the red staining the doctors white lab coat along the outside of his right arm.

"Good timing officer, good timing." John replied.

"Nah, you tired him out for me." Kelly's glanced over the young boy.

"Hey there Matthew, this is my friend officer Tim Kelly." John was surprised at how even his voice was, he even managed a friendly smile. The adrenaline was starting to leave his system he didnt know how much longer he could hold the smile, or even stand. He would definitely sleep hard tonight.

"You a cop too?" Matthew's green eyes narrowed scrutinizing the doctor.

"Not exactly but he does help us out every once an a while don't you doc?"

"On my days off." John smiled. "Officer I need to take the boy to have his arm x-rayed." John was trying to keep his steadily bleeding right arm out of the boys sight.

"I'll just come along. Why don't I. You two can fill me in." the young boy looked up at the policeman wearily.

"Nothing to worry about Mathew, officer Kelly is one of Scotland Yards finest." Still the boy tiredly watched his drunk father being led away.

"Well I wouldn't say finest. I was just wondering Doc, I bet I can get a nurse to show us the way to x-ray. Will u pop in and let my wife know I'll just be a bit." Kelly moved his eyes towards john's bleeding arm.

"Oh, right. I'll do that. Nurse." John motioned for a shaken Tori to show the police officer and young boy to x-ray.

"Hey Doc you know the routine, I'll be needing a report in a bit." Kelly had looked apologetically at the exhausted doctor before John nodded and headed off.

"Your wife is sick?" Mathew asked sadly. "Is she going to die? My mum died."

"No, she's not sick." Officer Kelly tried to clear his voice, suddenly wishing he'd of tightened those cuffs on the drunks wrists. "My son just had surgery."

"He's sick?"

"He was, but the Doctor found what was wrong and now he'll be home tomorrow."

"Did he fall?" Matthew watched the officer from the corner of his eye, holding his wrist to his chest still clutching the ice pack now halfway to just a small bag of water.

"No. No he didn't fall." Kelly's jaw muscle twitched, but he kept his eyes forward. "Appendicitis."

"How old is your son?"

"Four. Do you have any siblings?" The boy shook his head no.

"Do you have a gun?" this was asked out of curiosity, Kelly realized the boy was dropping his guard. He didn't hear suspicion or apprehension as green eyes studied the officers face.

"No. Don't need one when I've got two arms and a truncheon." Officer Kelly smiled flexing his arms. The boy laughed now, genuinely laughed.

"Can I see your trunk-trench"

"Truncheon."

"Right, can I see it?" Tim Kelly resisted the urge to reach out and ruffle the boy's red hair, the kid sounded and looked so much like Gloria's little brother Michael they could be twins. He wondered how old Matthew was, he was small and thin, he could imagine what Gloria would say if she'd seen him. He frowned sadly realizing the young boy was still waiting for an answer.

_**~0~** _

"Doctor, uh nice work tonight." Doctor Bales finished the stitches on John's arm.

"Thanks. I'm sorry about the exam room."

"No, it's fine. Listen Doctor Watson, I'm going to talk to Sarah and see if we cant keep you on full time, it seems a waste they only use you a few days a week. We sure could use a man like you, reliable and quick on his feet. Although I will not encourage fighting for any reason, we do have hospital security for a reason." John wasn't going to protest that the other man started and he was sort of backed into a corner.

"Wont happen again ma'am." Was all he could say.

John nodded as the older woman wrapped his arm. "Good thing this wasn't worse."

"I've had worse." John replied. The older woman looked him over once more, "Something tells me it wasn't the army you're talking about." John didn't reply. "You know John you're a good man. A good doctor. I apologize for speaking to you as I did earlier."

"No it's fine. You're right. Protocol is important and I do understand triage."

"Well, instinct Doctor Watson is a thing that some of the best of us are lacking sometimes. As well as common sense."

"No. I think sometimes Protocol gets in the way." Doctor Bales now handing the younger man a prescription.

"You know the game, be sure to follow the directions and in week we'll take those stitches out. If you haven't already. Alright. Off you go now. Straight home."

"But I have-"

"Yes. I know I'll speak to the officer. Don't argue with me Doctor, I am a mother, a grandmother and a supervisor, so off you go. I'll let the constable know where he can find you for a report."

"Thank you Doctor. Have a good night." John left the older Doctor, unaware of the sad look on her face. And for a moment she didn't see the man but a young blond boy in a hospital gown saying he fell off his bike.

"Doctor Bales. It's been too long."

"Wondered if you would turn up Mr. Holmes. I expect you want to know if I'm going to hire him full time."

"No, I already knew you would be hiring the Doctor full time, it would be a grave mistake not to."


	39. EXTENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guilty conscience

**CHAPTER 39. EXTENT**

"Then why are you here Mr. Holmes? Is your brother needing to be committed again?" The dark haired woman turned to face the tall man's grayish green eyes.

"Oh, Doctor Bales we have a family physician now that takes care of all necessary paperwork."

"Then what?" The older woman narrowed her eyes, adjusting her hornrimmed glasses.

"I was only concerned for the Doctor's well being. Perhaps working a busy A&E wasn't such a great idea."

"Mr. Holmes you know what they say about the road to hell being paved by good intentions?"

"Glass houses Doctor, glass houses." Mycroft answered in his usual bored tone.

"Tell me Mycroft why are you suddenly so concerned with the young man? Hasn't he been through enough? Why are you here? It's not because you dont want to upset mummy because Mrs. Holmes has been gone for a while now. I seem to remember about that time you committing your brother to rehab. I think you have forgotten I was there when that little hospital scene played out. Always wondered where Sherlock's little babysitter had gone to, thought you might have disappeared the poor boy and buried him out in some desert. After seeing his employee file, turns out I was close enough. Now I think you should know, I consider myself clear of owing you any more favors. Whatever you have planned, I wont be apart of it."

"Doctor Bales always the humanitarian. Since when have you grown a conscious, I seem to remember you had no objections to my family paying you for all services rendered. I'm sure some of that money has even benefited your grand children's university fees. And did you not put to use the money my family so charitably donated to this hospital. That said Doctor Bales I think you've convinced me working here is a good place for the Doctor Watson. I'll be checking in every once and a while and you'll be happy to find newer equipment donated to your lab here next week. Have a wonderful night Doctor Bales. Sleep well." Mycroft smiled and with a quirt nod, he took his leave, Doctor Bales hadn't failed to notice the smile never reached those cold gray eyes.

The Holmes family was an interesting bunch, how the hell did John Watson ever get mixed up with that lot? Poor kid.

Up until a few weeks ago she thought she truly had seen the last of Mycroft Holmes. Unfortunately he'd appeared in her office two weeks back offering her a donation of significant size. Remembering the last time the man had come into her life she knew that there were definite strings attached.

She didn't know what to expect when he claimed that his only wish was for her to contact the local clinic and ask Doctor Sawyer if she had any extra hands to send her way.

Yes her hospital was short handed, so it wasn't something she didn't already need, then Sarah had sent her Doctor Watson and two other doctors to be interviewed.

She should have recalled his name, but the years had stretched her memory, and it wasn't until she met up with the young man that she recognized him.

It was a different system back when she first started out as a medical resident, a system that allowed too many children to slip through the cracks. Now the laws were stricter and less lenient. People then were more apt to look the other way especially if the child's only parent was a decorated veteran, temper be damned.

Back in her early residency she had come across the young man, instantly having her suspicions.

Suspicions that lead her to fill out reports and make inquires to child services. Only the over worked child services liaison had gone to the Watson house and found it clean, nothing out of the ordinary, and upon questioning the neighbors they had nothing ill to say about the Watson's. It had taken further urging of Doctor Bales for the old grouchy liaison to speak to the boy's school.

The boy's teachers had expressed the child's talent in sports, and academics. Sure they'd reported injuries and bruises but nothing that wasn't explained away as normal childhood tumbles and rambunctious boys clumsiness. No one would listen and she knew that the system would fail this young man, it had frustrated her then. Even more so was the unwillingness for anyone to help the boy and his rebellious wayward sister, Mrs. Coleen Harrington child liaison, was an old school believer in spare the rod spoil the child. So nothing would be done.

Then came Mycroft Holmes and a deal with the devil was struck and once a deal with the devil is struck you are forever in his pocket. And the devil went to any extent to keep control of what was his.

_**~0~** _

Mycroft thought the woman was always so overly dramatic, he'd only ever had good intentions when it came to his brother and by extension his brothers only friend John Watson.

When he learned that the doctor was looking for employment he thought it best for the Doctor to work at a busy A&E instead of just another locum clinic doctor. The man needed to be active to stay busy, and feel needed. It was a full time job keeping an eye on Sherlock and now his flatmate, so much so he had assigned several agents to it. Then he received a call alerting him to Doctor Watson's injury. Really the man was just as bad as Sherlock, it's like trouble and men with knives, explosives and guns just happened to gravitate towards the two. This made the British Government yearn for the old days when it was bully's, garden walls and tree's, he had to worry about.

And how dare that woman bring mummy into this. Sure much of what he did was to keep mummy from being upset, but he did care for his brother and he worried about John Watson. Tonight was a prime example of why he constantly worried.

Mycroft walked steadily down he Hospital corridor he paused hearing that officer fellow, the same the Doctor had patched up a month ago. Mycroft could almost forgive the fool, seeing how he took down this knife-wielding assailant.

"He'll be back wont he?" the young red haired boy was asking, his arm in a sling.

"I wont let him come back Matt you'll be safe. They are going to keep you over night, after you have surgery."

"I want to go home."  
"You cant just yet." The officer was trying to explain.

"Well can I go home with you?" the young boy mumbled.

"Now the nurse is going to take you to a room to rest and we'll get some things sorted alright?" the boy nodded.

Mycroft watched the boy being lead away, the young officer was asking the liaison if he could take him on. Explaining that he and his wife had adequate room, she was a business owner.

Mycroft had run a background check on the young man after the Russian incident, he liked to have information on everything. One could never be too careful, so he knew the young man was correct. He may be young but his grandfather had left them a house he only paid property tax for, instead of rent the mans wife Gloria worked at her family owned Bakery a rather popular bakery in London he would know of course being a fan of their Battenberg cake. He watched the young boy square his shoulders holding his head up he allowed the nurse to lead him gently down the hall.

Mycroft felt the past start to pull on his memory and he made a quick phone call.


	40. Father and sons

**CHAPTER 40. Father and Sons  
**

Father had very much wanted to hold a meeting with John Watson, Mycroft was the one in charge of making this happen without his younger brother's knowledge. He decided it would be best to do so towards the end of the winter holiday. Of course all well laid out plans were horribly smashed to unrecognizable pieces when dealing with one Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft was searching unsuccessfully for his favorite black umbrella, he had sworn he'd left it in the hall, where all the other umbrella's and canes had been kept. He'd searched the hall and nothing, now he was in the study thinking he may have left it near his favorite chair by the fire.

One of the maids looked nervously from the step ladder she perched on to dust the corners above one of the windows in the study.

"Oh dear Master Mycroft, better see what's going on outside by the garden wall. Looks like your father is liable to have a heart attack."

"When did father return I thought he was going to London until the new year?" Mycroft went straight to the window.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know anything about that but I do know he left yesterday and returned early this morning. He's been on the phone with a Doctor Muller most of the morning."

Mycroft winced, that was the head of the Muller Clinic in Switzerland, where mummy was resting. Mycroft deduced the call would be because mummy was refusing her medication again. This would mean she wouldn't be home for Christmas let alone new years. Father would have expected her to accompany him to the Christmas ball, and all the social engagements that one in his position was expected to attend.

The older Holmes brother deduced that father would most likely be in a dark mood, conclusion, keep Sherlock out of father's way. From the sound of it Mycroft already failed horribly, he sighed heavily. He really hadn't really wanted to go sledding with the others but it was the opportune time to get to know Magnus Blair, Magnus had a cousin going into politics, and he was going to be sledding.

Instead the older Holmes brother found himself running down the hall for the nearest exit. Once outside Mycroft hurried to the garden wall where he could hear Sherlock shouting angrily.

"You don't care! Why are you even here?" Sherlock nearly squeaked, the veins on his neck and forehead straining, he gave a little hop when he spoke, trying to put every ounce of his anger behind those words.

Mycroft could see John Watson standing uncomfortably to the side nearest the wall, the snow was deeper here away from the walk way, so it came up to his knees, he wore a thin jacket with a brown hoodie under for added insulation. The older Holmes could see his brother's friend was nervously watching father and Sherlock, it wasn't until father took a step dangerously close to the younger Holmes that John was suddenly beside his dark haired friend, positioning himself between Sherlock and father.

"Uh, Mr. Holmes Sir-" John straightened up, as he was taught to respect his elders. "Excuse me for interrupting." Father's cold eyes bore down on the younger man, his lips curled in a sneer, an expression of disgust. "He's sorry. He wont do it again. Right Sherlock." John elbowed the younger boy. Who now shared a sudden look of shock that his father and brother were wearing. "I said right Sherlock." John was squeezing his friends arm, but keeping his eyes focused on the taller man who shared Mycroft's hair color and though the oldest Holmes brother did have the same shade of gray-green eyes, Mr. Holmes Senior's were harder, cynical and cold so very cold, that the young blond shivered.

Mycroft identify the exact moment when Sherlock realized that John and father were in close proximity. The dark haired boy had been trying to avoid this kind of meeting or any. Sherlock thought he'd managed to keep John's presence a secret.

He didn't know that Mycroft already had spoken to father about the blond boy. So acknowledging that father could say something to John, or maybe even order him off the property, sent the younger brother into a panic. Outwardly he remained defiant, but Mycroft could see the subtle changes in his brother's posture, the flushing of red from his neck to the tips of his ears had nothing to do with the cold. Even Sherlock's breathing was a little deeper.

"Sorry." Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth. Mycroft could see father was even more astonished. Then he snapped out of whatever small shock he'd momentarily experienced.

"No! I'm sorry! You're right Sherlock I don't care. I told your mother we should have stopped at one. But she wanted more-look what it's done to her. She's in a hospital refusing to eat or see anyone. And you nearly break your neck, I could careless. But your mother would surely die from that kind of news! She's already in there because of you! You ungrateful little monster! You! She was fine after Mycroft but she had you! I told her to be rid of you and she wouldn't! She's the only reason I allow you home from school on holidays!" Sherlock flinched from these words but didn't say anything. John closed his eyes grimacing as if he'd just seen his friend struck.

Sherlock had already turned without another word his father yelling. "I'm not done!"

John shot an angry look at Mycroft like he was at fault for not stepping in, and Mycroft felt guilty. He shoved the feeling away, John didn't know the tight rope he had to walk to keep the situation between father and Sherlock under control. Father meant it he could have Sherlock shipped off to a boarding school far off in Switzerland he'd pay the extra for the boy to never come home. And Mycroft would run the risk of disinheritance if he went against father's orders and visited. Or had any contact, didn't Sherlock understand this. Someday he would have power enough to keep his brother safe, to minimize threats and have a life of his own. Out from father's threat and the constant worry for his younger wayward brother.

This day, all he could do was watch his father clinch his fists and start back towards his running car in the drive. Sherlock and John were moving towards the house in the opposite direction, and Mycroft knew John would calm his brother down, as he would have to calm father. The aspiring government official so desperately wished he was back at school, or that he'd gone sledding.

He looked over his shoulder to see that John had caught up with the dark haired figure with a blue scarf. The blond boy had an arm around the younger Holmes shoulders and the two stood for a moment, then Mycroft blinked twice thinking he was seeing things. John Watson had Sherlock in a headlock, tucked under his right arm he was rubbing the boys head playfully. Mycroft knew it was playfully because he could hear their laughter, an odd feeling caused him to frown as he followed in fathers cold footsteps he made in the snow. Jealousy, it may have been Jealousy. He would need to reexamine this emotion later, for now he needed to deal with Holmes Senior.

**~0~**

It was later that day after father had left the house for London, and Mycroft deduced it would be his pretty blond secretary that would escort father to the social engagements. This bothered the older boy, but he as usual kept his emotions and thoughts to himself. Sentiment was viewed as a weakness.

He received a call from Royce who had driven John home after dinner. All Royce said was John's sister was in the hospital and he would be dropping the young boy off at the hospital instead of home, as John had requested, the problem being that Sherlock didn't want to leave John at the hospital.

Mycroft suspected it was an excuse to go through the cupboards and cabinets at the small town hospital. He called for Ronald to drop him off so he could help Royce collect his brother. He arrived to quiet a scene, Royce was arguing with Sherlock and John was nowhere to be seen.

"Excuse me! The hospital corridor is not the place for you and your son to be arguing people are trying to rest." The young doctor with black hair and horn rimmed glasses had her hands on her hips.

"Don't you have bed sores to treat, or bedpans to collect?" The dark haired boy no older than five or six snapped looking the woman over just as irritably.

"Pardon us Doctor." Royce frowned but the young master was only getting started.

"She's not a doctor Royce not yet at least she still has a residency to finish-" "Sherlock Holmes that is quite enough!" Mycroft cut his brother off before he could gain speed.

"We will be going." Mycroft put a firm hand on his brother's shoulder the Doctor sighed

"Good."

"Have fun cleaning-"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft gave his brothers shoulder a jolt. "We are going." Mycroft growled.

"I want to say goodbye first."

"Sherlock-"

"Manners dear brother, mummy said one shouldn't be rude."

"Indeed good advice, that I see you so selectively use at your convenience."

"Don't be so over dramatic Mycroft." Sherlock shrugged his brother's hand off his shoulder.


	41. Father and Son

**CHAPTER 41. FATHER and SON**

"Harry had alcohol poisoning she's been here two days. John said they left a message on their answering machine. I don't know why he's so worried, I heard the nurses say it's not the first time. Obviously it wont be the last."

"Clearly." Mycroft nearly ran over his brother who came to a sudden stop, his small body tensed, the older Holmes still held a hand to his brother's shoulder, he realized what made his brother halt, it was a pleading voice. John's to be exact, and the way he spoke sounded so different from the usual easy going, cheerful John Watson.

"Please Harry, you have to go! Just go, please."

"Johnny I don't have a problem I'm not going away to some fucking rehab where they'll have me sit in a group and talk about my feelings! Let go!" Mycroft could deduce easily by the sound of her voice, by her words and the movement of squeaky trainers on a tile floor that John must be holding his sister's arm pleading.

"Harry you need-"

"Johnny stop it! Just stop! What do you know? Huh? You don't work? You just go off and spend your days with a head in a book, or playing dolls or whatever with your new friend! What do you know about anything!? Always acting better than you are! Playing the perfect little angel! You know what it didn't keep aunt what's her face around. And it sure as hell doesn't impress Dad. So drop this worried act! Huh, start looking out for yourself. Now let me go! I got to get out of here before he gets here, and you if you're smart you'll do the same! Goodbye John have a nice life."

Mycroft could see his younger brothers tiny fists clenched but Sherlock remained standing stiffly slightly tilted as if any moment he'd sprint towards his friend like a rocket, but some invisible force kept his feet glued to the floor.

"Maybe we should give them privacy Sherlock." Mycroft was pulling his brother by the arm when someone nearly ran them over heading down the hall not running but stalking really. The man was wearing green canvas jacket, and brown khakis, Mycroft thought he'd bathed in a tub of gin, cheap Gin from the the smell of it.

This stranger, shot a glare down the hall as that doctor Sherlock had insulted earlier called out at a near run. "Mr. Watson-wait."

"Fuck off!"

So that was John's father, he stood an average five foot seven, Mycroft was already taller than this man, and he wasn't even eighteen just yet.

"You little whore!" Mr. Watson had made it to the hospital room five doors away from where a stunned Mycroft and Sherlock were standing. There was a crash and Mycroft tightened his hold on Sherlock's shoulder the boy tried to pull away. Again Mycroft knew his brother was able to see what he did using their heightened senses and deductive minds.

"Fuck off!" Harry yelled. "You cant tell me what to do!"

"Stop! Dad! Wait. Just wait-" Mycroft flinched hearing the sound of a hand meeting skin this cut John's appeal short, the slap,echoed in the older Holmes's head even after the yelling continued.

"Shut it! Don't you talk!"

"I'm out of here!" Harry must have moved towards the door "Let go!" Mycroft could see security rushing down the hall. "Get off of me! I'm taking my worthless kids home!" And Harry made a break for it she ran full speed without looking scowling at the two brothers only in passing.

"Get off of me! I know the way out!" Mr. Watson pushed past the group of orderlies.

"Mr. Watson perhaps you would like some coffee or tea-" The resident doctor was trying to keep up with the stout man.

"I came in a cab don't preach at me." He growled. Holding the back of John's neck in a vice like grip, leading him forcefully towards the exit. "How you two kids turned out so disobedient and worthless, it would break your mother's heart. You're lucky she's gone. God bless her. She'd be here if it weren't for you. They said not to have anymore, and then you came along and killed her. And this is how you repay her." John didn't move he only allowed himself to be pushed out the exit, several onlookers just watching curiously.

All they could do was stand and watch, even Royce gripped his black hat twisting it in his hands, glaring at the bully of a man. What could Mycroft do? He wasn't a powerful government official, sure the Holmes had connections but to a degree, and father wouldn't use any of them to do anything to help someone else unless it benefited him in some way.

"Do something!" Sherlock begged his brother tugging at his big brother's hand.

"Come one Sherlock. Let's go home." he lead Sherlock out of the hospital, minutes after John and his father climbed into an older model car. Royce swore under his breath, holding their own car door open for the brother's to climb in, Mycroft told himself the reason he held his brother's hand was keep him from running off.

Later that night Mycroft received a call from a Doctor Bales.

"Hello is this Mycroft Holmes?"

"Yes. How can I help you." Mycroft held back a yawn.

"Mr. Holmes this is Doctor Bales we met earlier." Mycroft was on his feet now, nearly stumbling over his blankets that he'd thrown off of him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but it's your brother."

"My brother? Surely this is a mistake-"

"No, it's not anything life threatening. He's just here."

"What?" Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes. At the hospital. I didn't know who he was other than having that brief run in with him earlier. "I got your number from John Watson. He said I should call you so you wouldn't worry."

"John?" Mycroft felt his stomach clench.

"Yes, he wanted to call you himself but he's um unable to. Are you family? I don't see you on the medical forms."

"I'm on my way." Mycroft resisted the urge to toss his flip phone across the room.

The roads weren't the best and it was snowing again, Mycroft ignored all the theories and emotions screaming to be acknowledged, instead he concentrated on the white of the snow.

Sherlock didn't get up to greet his brother he remained seated with his knees pulled to his chest. His face looked pale and Mycroft could see his brothers red rimmed eyes.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock grumbled into his knees.

"I could ask you the same." Mycroft snapped back, causing his brother to flinch. For reasons unbeknownst to him that reaction angered him even more so than being awoken in the middle of the night by a strange phone call.

"I only went back to return a book. I forgot I had it. It took longer to walk then I anticipated because of the snow. When I got there he was already leaving in his car. So I figured it would be just fine to go up to the house." Sherlock frowned still not meeting his brothers eyes, "The idiot didn't even lock the door behind him, then again what could anyone steal. He broke it all." Sherlock looked at his brother a question in the gray depths, one that neither Holmes knew the answer to because neither could find the word to form the question. It was so simple and yet too complex.

"Sherlock you know that you arent to walk anywhere let alone from the estate to town. You could have been injured or worse." The younger Holmes only scowled shrugging his tiny shoulders.

"I called his name and he didn't answer. I was-I was afraid. If that man John's father could break heavy things like the telly and their kitchen table what then could he do to John? Who is certainly no where near as heavy as the telly. I could see what happened Mycroft, it was worse then-then being there to witness it first hand. My mind could replay the events from the evidence of scuff marks and holes in the wall, broken glass-I couldn't shut it off so I panicked." Mycroft could see his brother clutching his knees now, small knuckles white. "And I found him in the bathroom trying to wash up."

"Sherlock." Mycroft was at a loss, he didn't know what to say or what kind of comfort to offer, this wasn't his area, and he didn't want to hear anymore.

"Mycroft there are eight carpal bones in the wrist divided equally in two rows. The row closer to the arm consists of four bones: scaphoid, lunate, triquetral and pisiform. The row closer to the hand consists of bones called trapezium, trapezoid, capitate and hamate. These bones provide a connection between the two bones of the forearm, ulna and radius, and the bones making up the hand. I thought our father was bad. At least he leaves us intact, even if his words are just as biting."

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow questioningly; worried his brother was in some kind of shock.

"Mr. Holmes." Doctor Bales smiled thinly.

"Poor John due to his station in life he is forced to receive less than adequate medical care."

Doctor Bales ignored the younger boys comment. "Would you like to see him? The bones been set and he's still mildly sedated. But he's asking if someone's come to collect his little friend here."

Sherlock was pushing past the Doctor without further words, Mycroft listened to what the Doctor was saying, she explained that the police had been called but most likely nothing would be done. After he felt that he had all the data possible Mycroft went to follow his brother excusing himself to the young Doctor.

"John, really there was no need to have Mycroft called in."

"It's late Sherlock you should be home. Not wondering the snow covered roads in the dark." John's voice was hoarse and eyes glassy but he still managed to chastise the dark haired boy who then started to fidget with his coats shiny black buttons. Mycroft was to busy taking inventory of the damage.

"It only looks worse than it is." John answered Mycroft's unspoken question. "I cant even feel a thing." John shrugged, his eyes growing heavy, a small plaster had been placed over a gash just near the hairline. "Stitches but only three of four."

"Five John, I saw her writing on the chart, although it's nearly impossible to read. But it said five, two fractured ribs, and lace-lazer-lacturations?" he scrunched his face.

"Lacerations." Mycroft corrected his brother and both boys jumped as if they'd forgotten he was even there.

"Lacerations, a split lip, and I do think your eye is going to turn an interesting aubergine, or eggplant for the layman."

"Sherlock please let Rodney know we will be out shortly." Sherlock looked ready to protest but John threw him a warning look.

"Fine. But don't badger him Mycroft."

"Go." John instructed and the young boy did just that.

"John where is your aunt."

"She went back to the city when my father finished rehab."

"How long ago?"

"He's been sober almost three months-I don't know what set him off, maybe it was the nearing of Christmas. Or the new year, but he started drinking just a few days ago. He'll be better-"

"John-"

"Do you think they'll take him away?" John's blue eyes blinked heavily.

"Perhaps." Mycroft replied coolly. "The Doctor said she has had someone in to speak to you. John, why wont you tell them what's happening?"

"Because he doesn't need jail. You wont understand."

"No, I don't."

"I want to go home." John sighed sadly. "I hate hospitals."

"Oh, I thought you were an aspiring doctor?"

"Well I'd rather help then be helped that's for sure."

"John I'll make the arrangements with your aunt for you to spend the rest of the winter holiday with us. By then she'll have uh, sorted out the house."

"You don't have to worry about me Mycroft, you have enough on your plate, I mean aspiring for world domination isn't easy when you have a genius younger brother as your officially declared arch nemesis. So don't worry about me." John's eyes were barely open. Mycroft didn't reply. "Mycroft." John called out before the older Holmes could leave. "Your umbrella, I hid it behind the book shelf in the upstairs sitting room, thought it would be safe from the uh planned experiment. Sorry about the tie."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, of course, he should have known.

He found Doctor Bales arguing with a rather stern looking older woman in long black skirt and gray cardigan.

"Goodnight Doctor Bales, if you could refrain from pulling me from my bed at such an hour in this bad weather for something that can wait till morning, I'd appreciate it."

"Good night Mrs. Harrington." The Doctor replied in a clipped tone watching the gray haired woman pull a heavy coat on and make her leave."

"Doctor Bales I do believe we need to talk." Mycroft smiled thinly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the extremely long chapter but thank you for all the helpful and wonderfully positive reviews!


	42. GRAY

**CHAPTER 42. gray  
**

"Detective Inspector Lestrade." Greg answered his phone sharply; the source of his irritation was in the middle of berating another constable for tracking footprints all over the crime scene so he turned his back to better hear the caller.

"Where? What happened? Is he alright?" The tone in his voice must have alerted his companion in the dark coat because suddenly he waved the constable off, crouching silently eyes on the dead drug dealer and prostitute, but his head tilted slightly to the side, in Greg's direction. "Stabbed? How the hell-he's a A&E doctor for Christ sake! How the hell-wait hang on-" Lestrade caught how Sherlock was suddenly springing to his feet, and in two strides at the door. "Sherlock! Dammit!"

Lestrade hung up without a goodbye, officer Wright would understand. "Donovan! This is your crime scene! Call me I'll be at the hospital."

"Finally gonna check the Freak in to the mental ward?" she couldn't help but ask, Lestrade didn't have time to reprimand but he shot her a sobering warning glare.

"Yes sir. I'll take over." And she was back to ordering people around.

"Sherlock I'll drive! Get in! It'll be faster." Sherlock didn't argue as much as he hated sitting in cop cars his worry for John was greater. This startled Lestrade partly because he'd never seen this side of the younger man, this added more unpredictability to the already reckless genius. Now add one John Watson, only friend, flatmate and assistant-

"Believe me Lestrade you want to stop thinking right now." Sherlock growled.

"I hate it when you do that." Lestrade muttered. "That was officer Wright if you would like to know. He was taking in a drunk disorderly when he heard the hospital security needed back up. Seems our good Doctor was making his rounds came across a young boy with a broken wrist-" Lestrade caught how Sherlock's jaw tightened, from the corner of his eye, he only kept going. "Long story short the father pulled a knife on John when he told the father that the boy would need to go to x-ray. He managed to disarm the man and then officer Kelly who as it seems was there, took the man down and cuffed him. Wright showed up to help secure the man, looks like it was a pretty good fight, the assailant has a broken wrist. John however didn't make it out untouched. Officer Wright said he was in with a Doctor. That's all I got before you rushed out. I have a feeling that between you and your new flatmate, I am going to go completely gray"

"So did you burn it after reading or just hand it back to my fat brother?" Sherlock's voice was cool and even.

"Come again." Greg glanced over from the road to the detective and back.

"Don't play innocent with me Lestrade. I know you read it."

"Did John tell you?"

"No. Quite the opposite, I deduced something was wrong when he returned from shopping hours later, smelling of bleach, disinfectant and chicken soup. I know from experience John makes chicken soup when one is sick. I also know that if he were to go to your home he would undoubtedly 'tidy up', it's a habit he's always had since I've known him, most likely due to growing up with a father in the military. And if he were to clean, he would most defiantly use disinfectant and bleach to minimize the spread of germs. Seeing how he left the flat in a somewhat annoyingly cheerful mood, and returned-"

Sherlock recalled that day, the way John mechanically put the groceries away. A slight limp had returned and while John shut the fridge he hadnt complained about any of the body parts, he only closed the door and stared off into space for a moment as if he was a million miles away.

That night Sherlock had played his violin several times this wasn't the usual dreams, John didn't wake up screaming, he only just tossed and turned and muttered incoherently.

"Returned what?" Lestrade frowned, Sherlock rarely paused mid sentence like that and Greg couldn't read the consulting detective's face.

"Doesn't matter. Just answer my question Detective inspector."

"I didn't read it. He must have found it when he was straightening up, I mean after my wife left the house was a little cluttered." Sherlock snorted as if a little cluttered wasn't the right word.

"Fine, it was a fucking pigsty. But I was sick and I didn't have the energy or will to clean up. And I would never expected anyone to stop by but there he was, Doctor Watson." Greg was glad to have the road to concentrate on, this made it easier to avoid Sherlock's glare. "Sherlock I had every intention on giving that file back to your brother Mr. British Government, I just got busy with work and then my wife leaving and finally getting sick did me in. He didn't give me a chance to explain. I've been wanting to talk to him but-"

"He can be stubborn Detective at times. He also has one very great flaw." Sherlock made a face as if this was one thing he found disgusting and absolutely loathsome,

"Whats that?"

"He forgives almost immediately." Sherlock shook his head. "I have been trying to break him of this habit for years."

"Sherlock you do understand this isn't a character flaw?"

"Isn't it?"

"No. It's actually a good thing." Sherlock frowned glancing out the window.

"This Detective Inspector is a naïve outlook on the reality we live. The world is big, cruel, cold and dull. And there are some people who should never be forgiven even in death." Lestrade thought back to the pictures he gathered together to put back into that wretched file. All John's secrets scattered over Lestrade's hardwood floor.

"Like his father?"

"You saw the pictures then? I would have thought Mycroft would at least hold something back. But then again it's Mycroft always lets you know exactly what he wants you to know. He wants you to feel sorry for John, he's manipulating your strong sense of justice, right and wrong all that sentimental rubbish. He thinks if he can get you to think of John as fragile you will refrain from allowing him to close to violent crime scenes, and by extension me. Oh, Mycroft will stoop so low, coward. I should have known there was a reason behind him "just missing" John whenever he came for his impromptu visits. He thinks he's so clever."

"Well I hope John gives him at least half the ear full I received."

"So Detective Inspector did my brothers ill conceived plan work?"

"No-if anything I feel like a prat for thinking your flatmate was unstable or even a threat to you in anyway. Did you know he's been decorated more than once! A GC no less. " Sherlock didn't know this, he refused to pry into John's life more than necessary. Sure he hacked the medical records but that was only to be sure the good doctor was receiving his necessary care, that and Sherlock found it hard to concentrate on anything else until he knew what John's condition was upon release. Seeing how that horrid excuse of sister had kept him from seeing his friend. John could have recovered physically at a faster pace had that harpy not interfered.

"You didn't did you?"

"No. I did not feel the need to pry into my friend's life. I trust he will tell me what I need to know in his own time." This was a true statement, John Watson had always been a private person. He didn't like to talk about himself and his family. Sherlock could always relate, well at least on the last part.

"How the hell did someone like that get mixed up with you lot?" Sherlock gave a small laugh, turning to glance out at the fast moving city buildings.

"The only way someone like that knows how. By accepting what can't be changed." Was all Sherlock could reply his thoughts were pushing away from the blurring scenery and he was remembering a cold winters day.


	43. THINGS FRIENDS SAY

**CHAPTER 43.** **Things Friends say**

"Sherlock!"

"John? Up here!" The tall six year old had climbed up the garden wall and now stood enjoying the new vantage point " The view is-"

"Are you crazy! Get down! You'll break your neck!" His friend shouted up running towards the high stone wall.

"John I'm perfectly fine, I have wonderful sense of balance." Sherlock frowned seeing his friends startled face, it was humorous John looked like he was going to be sick.

"You'll fall! Come down! Or I'm going home!" He stated firmly. Sherlock resented the fact that John used this threat to get what he wanted, one day Sherlock would call his bluff. But not today.

"Fine, John, have it your way. Where's your sense of adventure-wait a minute, what's he doing back?" Sherlock pointed to the road seeing his father's car starting down the drive.

"Who?"

"Father." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I thought after this morning's important business calls he was going to finally leave so he could get back to his secretary."

"I'm not even going to ask. Just get down." John nervously scrunched up his face, putting a hand up to shade out the bright sun.

Sherlock started to climb down the slick brick of the garden wall, just as his father's car pulled up the man jumped from his vehicle before it even came to a full stop.

"Sherlock Holmes!" the voice thundered making John flinch and Sherlock lost his footing and grip he started to fall back but his friend was right behind him to steady him and pull him the rest of the way down, any higher up and John wouldn't have been able to reach up to grab him in time.

The two boys stood up straight as the tall, bulkier, ginger haired Mr. Holmes approached his long legs made a short distance between them.

" What the hell do you think you're doing!" Sherlock shrugged not meeting his father's eyes. The same that would be Mycroft's later, cynical, hard and cold.

"Don't you shrug at me! That isnt any kind of answer!"

"Well father one would think it obvious. I was climbing-"

"You could have broken your neck! Don't you use your brain! Where's Amelia?"  
"That was my nanny three years ago. You let her go when-"

"Shut up. I don't want to see you on that wall or anywhere near it!"

Sherlock could see the tension in his friend the way John stood watching ready to pull his friend back if Mr. Holmes advanced any closer. He wanted to reassure him things never progressed past the shouting. Sherlock couldn't help himself from antagonizing his father, father's anger only fueled his own.

"Don't you have a secretary to get back to? Don't pretend to care father, sentiment doesn't suit you, we both know it! You don't care! Why are you even here?" Sherlock hating how his voice squeaked, as he tried to gain the same tone of his father failing miserably, his voice cracked instead of thundered. He hated this reaction, and his father was taking another step closer was he going to add more, what more could he say? Mummy wasn't eating? She hated him? He always said these things, always blamed him. Suddenly John was between them, the shorter boy didn't flinch, his body stayed stiff, and Sherlock watched in some kind of awe. He'd seen John take his side, with bullies, no matter the odds, but this was father.

The younger boy caught a look of absolute determination and something else. Was John frightened? For who? Father would never acknowledge John let alone strike him, the older Holmes didn't like to get his hands dirty. Lazy git! Then his only friend was speaking, actually addressing the older Holmes, and Sherlock recalled that story of a giant and boy with a slingshot, except John didn't have a sling shot.

"Uh, Mr. Holmes Sir-" John's voice sounded different, and Sherlock couldn't understand why he hated the tone it took. As if this man were something to fear, he was a bloody idiot, an idiot and an adulterer. Not to mention the biggest hypocrite and Sherlock hated him. "Excuse me for interrupting." John's shoulders were stiff and back straight, it reminded the younger Holmes of a soldier at attention. Father was focusing his attention, the full force of his glare; John's next words caught Sherlock off guard and from the expression father took it did the same to him. "He's sorry. He wont do it again. Right Sherlock?" A hard elbow to his ribs was brought him to his senses and he realized too late just how close father was. Father had unsettling views on friends, on people of lesser social standings. But John wasn't dirt on his shoes, John was brave, funny, honest (disgustingly so), and his friend. Father had power, he could send Sherlock away, make him leave and not allow him on the property. Could use his friend against him in some twisted way to gain the upper hand, to make him compliant.

Even at his young age he understood it and feared the possibilities. He should have been more careful he needed to end this quickly before father took more notice of John. So he swallowed the nasty taste of acquiescence, he needed to calm himself father was an idiot but he was a man of business a shark, and he always struck when he caught even the faintest scent of blood in the water.

"Sorry." He pushed out, clamping his teeth shut so hard his jaw began to ache. There it was, and he braced himself for what would come, telling himself that it wasn't defeat, he would turn and run after his father had his predictable tantrum of cruel words, and that would put distance between father and John. Because Sherlock knew whenever he ran John was close behind.

This time had been exceptionally cruel and after father had his say Sherlock hadn't even realized he was running away until someone was calling out to him. He was almost at the servant's entrance and John was there, a panic started to seize him as he scrubbed at his eyes. He didn't want to be seen in this weakened state, he was not a baby, those words did not hurt him, he wasn't the cause for his mother's illness. Was he? She said she loved him, he spoke to her on the phone a few days ago. She had said it, but was this his fault? Her being away. Why did father always blame him? There had to be truth behind it.

"Sherlock! Dammit! How you can run that fast in this deep snow-" John panted but Sherlock had turned his back. "Hey!" John tried to get step in front of him, but the younger Holmes started to pace, until a strong hand grabbed his forearm. "Hey. Listen. He didn't mean that. He's just angry at his lot in life."

"He's an idiot John." Sherlock hated how his voice cracked now and his vision blurred.

"Yeah, I'd have to say so. And I thought he'd be taller. And have more hair, poor Mycroft I know now he's got a future residing hairline to look forward to." Sherlock took a deep breath; his father was loosing his hair rather rapidly.

"I hate him. I hate him John! He wants me to be like him. I wont be like him! Mycroft will, but I wont-"

"You wont be your father Sherlock. You wont. I don't even think Mycroft will be either. He's too smart to be dumb and so are you for that. You're better than him, besides you have too high a metabolism. You should really feel sorry for Mycroft."

"John if you are attempting to make me feel better it's not working."

"Isnt it?" John put his friend in a headlock easily and started to mess the boys unruly curls. "This always cheers me up."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, that and fathers car pulling away in the distance alerted him to the fact John was safe from father's pointed nose and scrutiny.

"You arent going to be your father Sherlock. And what he said was rubbish. I've seen your mum she loves you."

"Then why does she stay away?" Sherlock hated the whine in his voice but he couldn't help it.

"She's sick Sherlock. Sometimes people are broken and it takes time to glue the pieces together. We all are a little cracked, some of us just hide it better with wealth, or pointing fingers, or just cruelty, and others just accept what cant be changed."

"John have you been reading Harry's AA pamphlets again?"

John ignored the remark refusing to be swayed. " We cant fix people quick like dishes and dolls with glue and tape. Takes time, besides let the adults sort it out. Stop focusing on this grown up shite it'll make you mad, or like them. Balding. You know what stress does to the metabolism." He motioned to Mycroft and the older Holmes. John finally released his friend. Sherlock couldn't help himself and he started to laugh. It felt better, and he could see his brother's future in his father's bulky figure. This fueled his laughter even more.

"Remember that. Now come on it's bloody freezing out here, lets go inside and see about some hot chocolate. You can make your mum a nice Christmas card. That'll cheer her up."

"Would you write something inside. I'm rubbish with words." Sherlock climbed the steps to the servant's entrance.

"Uh, sure if you want. But not if my fingers have frozen off due to being out here any longer."

"Come along John! I smell biscuits!"


	44. BROKEN PEOPLE

**CHAPTER 44.** **BROKEN PEOPLE**

Sherlock couldn't understand his or his brother's inaction at the hospital. Mycroft was supposed to be able to fix things, and how many times had John stood up to someone even father for Sherlock? All the six year old could do was stand there, listening and watching like all the other ordinary idiots. That was John's father, they had the same features, Sherlock knew that when John was older that would be his friend's face. Except without the hardness. The man was holding John roughly and John didn't say anything, he was instead holding a familiar handkerchief to his bleeding nose, keeping his head down.

Sherlock had begged his brother to fix it to do something but Mycroft as unfeeling as ever just said "Come on Sherlock. Let's go home." Cowards, they all were all cowards, and John was pushed out the exit and towards a running car, not once did he look over in his friends direction. Sherlock couldn't let him go alone, he knew from what little his friend had said on the subject of Mr. Watson, was that he never stayed around too long. John would be alone, Harry having left and of course his aunt had returned home when John's father was out of rehab. These were easy things to deduce, along with other things but Sherlock needed more data. He needed to know his friend would be alright.

At dinner Mycroft said nothing, and Sherlock refused his dinner not understanding the anger he felt, at himself at John's father and Mycroft. Even at John, why didn't John fight back, he always fought back, with everyone? Why not this time?

Why didn't he do something? Why couldn't anyone do something even the Doctor's the grown ups just stood around.

John could be all alone with his father's wrath. Well Sherlock wouldn't allow it, he would go there to John's and he would bring him home. Keep him out of reach from Harry's barbed words and his father's heavy hands. Just until the end of Holiday's. He could do this because John was his friend and friends protect each other. Isnt that what his friend had always said?

It took the smaller boy longer than he thought to reach John's house in the dark and the snow. By the time he reached the place Mr. Watson was trying to back out of his driveway, his car sliding in the snow he nearly took out the neighbors fence." Pity it wasn't a tree. "Sherlock growled to himself, he held one of the medical books John had carried all the way there as an excuse for visiting.

The dark haired boy sprinted across the lawn as the older model car made it's way down the street in the snow, sliding and swerving. Drunkin idiot.

Sherlock didn't have to knock the door was left unlocked and partly opened. He peeked inside, never having actually been in John's house before. The sight that greeted him made his stiff hands drop the book he'd been carrying.

He stepped into the dimly lit living room the telly was lying broken, shattered beside a toppled over book shelf. The small coffee table and sofa flipped over on their sides. He tried to stop it, the deductions stepping quickly back into the small foyer. His eyes shot to the stairs where someone had tried to scrambled up only to be brought down hard the area rug that sat just at the bottom of those steps was scrunched up and rumpled beneath a new hole in the plaster of a wall in the living room. More broken furniture he could see it as it was supposed to be and he clasped his eyes shut against the violence of it all.

Stumbling back he called out his friends name. "John!" no answer, "John!" he followed the trail of dirty footprints, and made his way into the kitchen, dots of blood still wet left him a trail stopping in front of a small bathroom. The door ajar, he could hear someone inside but the light wasn't on.

"John." Sherlock choked out, pushing the door open slowly someone hissed out in pain when the door came up against something heavy. It was enough for a skinny six year old to squeeze in. "John?" Sherlock was looking for the light,

"Sherlock?" came the raspy voice. "Sherlock what are you-"

"Where's the light?"

"No, don't turn it on."

"John? What's wrong?" Sherlock found the light switch, his friend groaned as the room became illuminated and Sherlock almost wished he had listened.

"John-"his heart dropped to his empty tummy, he could see cuts and so many bruises. John's sweatshirt was ripped at the collar. Someone stronger, with bigger hands pulled him back when he tried to escape to hide. John's lip was split and the younger dark haired boy felt as if his legs were made of jelly. He held to the edge of the sink, his gray eyes darting around taking in the visual data. Confirming his deductions and being right usually excited him made him feel happy and cocky but not this time, this time he felt sick.

"It's alright. I just need a minute. Is he gone then?" John whispered leaning a head back against the toilet.

"Yeah, he was headed down the road." Sherlock swallowed, he forced himself to look towards his friend.

"Why are you here? What-"

"I remembered I had your book I wanted to return it." Sherlock kneeled slowly moving to be next to John.

"A book? Did you walk?" The blond boy was squinting his left eye a bit swollen.

"You can yell at me later but your face is bleeding and what's wrong with your uh- arm, you're- you're holding it funny."

"I think I fell on it." Sherlock didn't know what to do next. He just felt so helpless.

"It's fine. Just give me a minute I think-do you think you can help me call someone?"

**~0~**

"We're here Sherlock." Lestrade announced unnecessarily, except his companion had been so quiet the rest of the short ride, something told the old DI that the consulting detective's thoughts were miles away.

"Finally! Really Lestrade who gave you a license?" Sherlock was out of the car, he'd sent John several texts having received no reply made him that much more anxious. Why did he feel so anxious!? It's a hospital, John couldn't have gotten up to too much trouble, could he? Maybe he couldn't text back because he was losing too much blood and was being hooked to an IV.

"Doctor John Watson please." Sherlock was nearly out of breath the older woman at the front desk only glared at him. Sherlock was about to say something cutting when Lestrade showed his warrant card.

"Hello, I am Detective Inspector Lestrade this is Sherlock Holmes, we were told there had been an incident with Doctor Watson."

"Oh yeah right the new guy. He's being stitched up by Doctor Bales, should be coming out. Just down the hall there exam room 12."

Sherlock was moving past her and the DI was on his heels, did that awful crone say Doctor Bales. Why did that name sound so familiar?

"John!" Sherlock was hurrying towards his friend. His arm was bandaged and his shirt sleeve was rolled up, Sherlock deduced it had been shredded by the blood stains. Utility knife, didn't go in too far then.

"Sherlock?" John froze "Why are you here? Did something happen? Are you ok?" John was looking over his friend now, searching for injury, he turned to see the DI. "Everything alright?"

"We got a phone call, said you were in a bit of a scuffle." Lestrade coughed awkwardly putting his hands on his hips pushing his coat back. The Doctor had given him a quick glance searching for any sign of injury. This made Lestrade feel even more like an ass, and he found he couldn't bring himself to meet the young Doctor's blue eyes.

"Oh-that." John looked uncomfortable. "It was nothing."

"John you were stabbed." Sherlock exclaimed. "Really what kind of security does this place have?"

"Sherlock will you lower your voice." John lead his friends away from the corridor. "I'm fine. It was just a couple of stitches nothing serious. Barely superficial. It was actually a good thing that officer Kelly showed up when he did, took the man down without much of a fight. All went smoothly."

"Smoothly-" Sherlock scoffed.

"Officer Kelly?"

"Yes, then that other officer uh, Wright I think was his name."

"John maybe working in an A&E isn't exactly-"

"Stop. Right there. It's been a long night. And if we continue this conversation in the halls people will talk."

"That's all they ever do!" Sherlock growled.

"I'm fine. Really. Don't tell me you left a crime scene to just check on a few stitches." John narrowed his eyes on his flatmate who didn't reply only looked away. The DI had a grin on his face.

"Cant blame him for worrying about you Doctor, you're the only one brave enough to put up with the bastard. That and who's going to fan the flames of his already incredibly large ego?" John couldn't help but laugh.

"You're right. Absolutely right DI."

"Doctor Watson!" Officer Wright was just turning a corner avoiding colliding into a tall man with an umbrella looking irritable. "There you are. Kelly said we need a report, he's back talking to child services."

"Really officer cant he do this later, the man has been stabbed." Sherlock snapped.

"It's fine." John hated being babied he was fine dammit. He had been a soldier, sure he was a bit tired and his adrenaline had caused his shoulders to slump and head to throb.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock growled. The DI was smiling amused now, he'd never seen this part of Sherlock. So he was human after all. The officer straightened up once he noticed the DI standing just off to the side.

"That's alright Officer, I'm sure the Doctor wont be going anywhere. He can come down to the Yard tomorrow. The report can wait."

"Yes sir." Wright sighed. "Well then I'll be off. The man should be going into surgery here an hour. Looks like you broke his wrist pretty good Doc. Of course in self-defense. Never seen a Doctor move like that." John shrugged.

"It was an accident." John gave a thin smile. "I was just worried about disarming him really."

"Fancy work then Doc."

. "I'll give you both a ride back to the flat." The DI could read the exhaustion in the good Doctor's young face.

"Don't bother Lestrade we'll take a cab." Sherlock huffed.

"Uh, thanks. For your concern. And Officer Wright good work." John offered his unhurt hand.

"Be seeing you Doc." Officer Wright headed back towards the prisoners room.

"DI." John nodded stiffly, feeling self-conscious he turned to Sherlock, "Before we head home I just need to stop in and check on a patient."

"John really-" Sherlock started to protest but something stopped him someone was approaching someone familiar, his eyes narrowed on the Doctor in the white lab coat.


	45. IT'S ALL FINE

**CHAPTER 45. IT'S ALL FINE**

"John really-" Sherlock started to protest but something stopped him someone was approaching someone familiar, his eyes narrowed on the Doctor in the white lab coat.

She had her head down looking over a clipboard, but Sherlock couldn't forget the woman's face, how does one forget the Doctor who signs the paperwork for forced rehabilitation, or the Doctor who did nothing for a friend whose bones were being broken. How did John not recognize her?

"Sherlock it's not official. I just want to be sure the boy will be alright. This was a rough day for the poor kid." John patted his friend on the shoulder reassuringly.

"Doctor Watson, I thought I made it clear for you to go home." Doctor Bales pushed up her horned rimmed glasses, then she shot a glare at the DI.

"I hope the police aren't harassing you now after the night you've had."

"No, uh. Doctor Bales this is my friend Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and of course my flatmate Sherlock Holmes. They were just checking on me." She gave a suspicious glance towards the gray haired detective offering her hand he shook it firmly, her stiff expression faltered when she came to the tall curly haired man in the dark coat. He didn't take her hand.

John could see a tantrum before it started and needed desperately to head it off, for some reason his flatmate was snubbing his boss.

"Well Doctor Bales, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Try Wednesday Doctor. No need to rush things." Her tone said not to protest.

"Go on John, I'll be right here take your time." John excused himself and hurried down the hall not wanting to leave his flatmate to his own devices for too long.

"I better find Kelly." Greg excused himself feeling a tension between the Doctor and the Detective.

"So you look good Sherlock. I see you've cleaned up."

"And I see someone was fool enough to make you a real doctor."

"Awe, well nice to know you're tongue is sharp as ever. Thought the drug use would slow you're mind."

"So what a coincidence Doctor, is my brother bribing you again? Did he have you call the clinic John was working at? Or did your sense of guilt over not being able to help him before cause you to hire him?"

"Don't pretend to know me young man." The Doctor straightened her shoulders refusing to be pushed around by a child. Because that was what she saw every time she'd met the dark haired boy. She saw a young six year old, looking around curiously with his sharp eyes, and equally sharp tongue. Distrusting of all in the medical field. Most likely because his mother had been institutionalized almost all the boy's life.

"I will not be bullied by you or your infamous brother. I hired John Watson based on his skills and ability to think on his feet. He'll be a wonderful asset to this small hospital. How dare you think other wise. I don't care what you or your brother say, I will not rescind my offer to have him full time. You two cant treat people like objects to move and throw away when you're done. Remember that. If that boy has any sense he would put as much distance between your twisted family and himself. Now if you excuse me Mr. Holmes I have some bed pans to inventory." Sherlock felt the edge of his lips start to curl in a grin. So, she did have a back bone, well good. Mycroft could be a pest and John wouldn't appreciate interference.

John stood outside the operating room, he was speaking to Child Services and Officer Kelly was signing paperwork.

"You must have some friends in pretty high places officer Kelly. I haven't seen paperwork pushed through this fast since-well since ever. Usually takes months just to get on a waiting list." John waited for the two to be finished before he spoke to the young officer.

"Officer Kelly. Just wanted to check up on the young boy."

"Yeah. Looks like I'll be able to take him home. He looks so much like Gloria's little brother, they could be twins. Same damn red hair. I haven't said anything to her yet, she's still got her hands full with our boy. But I know she'll be alright with it. Hell he'll fit right in, those damn O'Rillys with their red hair and green eyes. Looks like the boy's father will be going away for a bit."

"You're a good man Officer."

"Nah, just cant stand to see kids pushed around. I see it enough on this job. Glad I can finally do something other than cuff the abusive parent. I just don't know how he'll turn out with all this."

"Oh, I think he'll be fine." John smiled easily. "Kids are tough, anyway. Just was checking back. Please say goodbye to your wife for me. And if you need anything, anything at all don't be afraid to call. Doesn't matter what time of day." John scribbled his number down and handed it to the officer.

"Hey doc!" Tim called out, "this doesn't make us even! I still owe you one." John smiled and waved at the young man.

Despite the ache in his arm, he felt good, happy! Everything was good. It was really good.

"John." Lestrade had waited for the Doctor to finish speaking with officer Kelly before rejoining the younger man, "You better get out there. I think Sherlock's gonna get security called on him if he continues telling the front desk nurse about her failed marriage." Lestrade was shaking his head.

"Oh great." John moaned

"He just cant help it can he?" Lestrade gestured to the tall dark haired consulting detective who was now speaking in his usual clipped tones.

"Oh, no he can't you have no idea. Do you know how many times I spent in the headmaster's office trying to smooth things over." Lestrade watched the younger man's expression change into amusement.

"You two are close then? Closer than his brother?"

"I don't think those two know how to be close to each other. Mycroft has always meant well, and Sherlock has always been slow to trust. The two have always tried to change each other; it just doesn't work that way. Someday they'll get it. Oh, she's gone all blotching in the face I better get over there."

"Oh, hey Doc, how about I buy you a pint, I have a feeling you'll need it. After the night you've had."

"Alright, yeah. Let me go save my flatmate from being assaulted by a fifty year old divorced triage nurse first."

_**~0~** _

Sherlock sat uninterested at the small table in the policeman's pub. John had a half finished mug of beer in front of him, as did Lestrade both men were laughing about one of the first cases the DI had ever worked with the consulting detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes unamused, his only reason for being there was to ensure his friend didn't have one too many.

Although the DI suspected that Sherlock didn't like to share John too often. He reminded Greg of his nephew Robert, he didn't like to share his toys too often and the couple times he did and and willingly, were always few and far between.

"That sounds all good and fun Greg, but my curly haired friend here has been solving cases since he was a kid. Hey Sherlock remember that one-dammit what was that bully's name?"

"Carl Powers." Sherlock huffed.

"That was the first unsolved case Sherlock and I have ever worked. Or rather I took notes and tried to keep him from being stomped on by the police. I was 13 and Sherlock was 11. I think we made a bit of a nuisances of ourselves."

"It was my first dealings with the incompetence of the Yard."

"What?" Lestrade frowned "What happened?"

"Shoes Lestrade! Shoes!"


	46. FORGOTTEN THINGS

 

**CHAPTER 46. FORGOTTEN THINGS  
**

The tall blond man was easily ignored; he was a sniper after all blending in was his specialty. He wore a simple pair of brown khaki cargo pants and a green t-shirt reminded him of his army days. A hand rubbed his aching leg just above the knee, damn the cold weather made it that much worse.

He ignored the old war injury, his eyes remained on the three men at the far table in the corner of the policeman's pub. His waitress placed another bottle of beer next to the warm untouched one in his hand. She offered a smile he ignored it as well as the beer. For appearances he attempted to look interested in his mobile.

The keen sniper's eyes continued to observe the men from under his blond lashes, head bent as if texting.

The sniper rolled his eyes as the dark haired man in the ridiculously long bellstaff coat started to fire off a quick dialogue like a rapid fire assault riffle. Gray eyes dancing excitedly for his willing audience.

The blond sniper moved his eyes to the silver haired man, alright _cop._ From the way he was watching the younger man with a bit of pride, adulation whatever, you would think the younger man was his son or younger brother or something.

And that blond Doctor had a stupid grin on his face, ugh the same one he always plastered to his face as a kid, the one that said he was proud to be associated with the individual sitting to his right. As the gray haired cop got up to use the mens, the sniper caught a clear sight of the two remaining men.

For a minute the room melted away and he could see a skinny dark haired kid rolling his gray eyes tugging at a blue tie, and a blond kid a little stockier with sky blue eyes dancing throwing an arm around the younger kids shoulders and ruffling the dark curls affectionately. Something a brother would do. Except this kid wasn't wearing the same quality of clothes of the younger boy, and their height and skin coloring was a definite indication these two were in no way related.

The sniper remembered the pang of jealousy that he couldn't explain watching the simple exchange between the two other boys, he was just a kid himself ten years old, and angry at the world.

Still the blond sniper couldn't look away, then the kid with the sky blue eyes wearing a pair of faded old jeans, and a simple striped rugby jersey tightened his hold on the younger boy and brought his now cold stare back at the sniper. He could see the warmth of the summer's day start to fade, a cool wind pushing at the branches of the spruce tree's of the park, a shadow fell over that small picnic table that the two sat at.

And for a moment the sniper was blinking pushing the scene away, a memory. The sniper had no urge to bring up the past but he had no choice.

He found himself remembering a cool summers day, where a ten year old Sebastian with dirty jeans and state issued white t-shirt was pulling on a small dark haired Irish boy's arm, his young companion complaining about the ruff handling. The ten year old Sebastian froze in his steps, coming across the scene and decided to go the other way. It wasn't their business besides he was just a kid with enough to worry about.


	47. LOST BOYS

**CHAPTER 47. LOST BOYS**

"Why are we going this way! This is the long way you idiot." The Irish accent was almost that much more pronounced when James was angry.

"Because I said." Sebastian snapped staying close to the tall trees of the park, over his shoulder he could hear a boy's shouts, he eyed James quickly but the boy hadn't noticed the scene unfolding just over their shoulders to the left, of course James wouldn't notice it wasn't interesting. The young eight year old only paid attention to interesting things. Sometimes he took them apart, picked a person clean of their secrets viciously with words too big for a boy his age, anything else he dissected to see just what made it tick or work, animal or alarm clock.

"I'm bored Sebby!" the whine again from the young man tugging to free his arm.

"Yeah well did you really have to burn down that old ladies shed?"

"I didn't burn it down I only suggested to young Arthur that I knew where a gas can and matches could be found. Also how to create a stronger flame and thus a brighter light show, of course the dog being locked inside was a perk."

"You knew he was a firebug-"

"Well that isnt my problem. And besides that old lady had it coming her dog did bite you."

"I don't need you doing that James."

"Don't you? Besides you're no use to me if you had an infection or were sent away. Why aren't we going to the park? I had an experiment I wanted to try with some of the ducks."

"Right, poison again? No James you are going to mess up and poison yourself one of these days. Now give it to me." The older boy demanded stopping once more but keeping a firm hold on the dark haired boys arm, he held his free hand out.

"No." the younger boy pulled his arm free, crossing his thin arms over the bony chest. His white t-shirt remarkably clean despite the growing flames and ash of the flaming shed. To Sebastian's chagrin, he had found James smiling wickedly too close to the inferno for comfort. "And don't touch me."

"James dammit. Fine, let's just go." Sebastian went to grab for James's arm again.

Sebastian didn't want to tell the younger kid the reason for taking another route was that he didn't feel like witnessing someone beating the crap out of their own kid, or maybe the guy was one of those kidnapper types they warn you about in school.

All he would need was for James to be on some weirdo's radar. He wanted to shield the younger boy from that violence, that and it made Sebastian's stomach churn, he thought of his own father. Who ever those two boys were it wasn't going to be a good day.

"Sebbs you don't worry about me. Worry about yourself. Being squeamish gets you no where. Besides it's not like I haven't seen it before."

"I aint squeamish." The blond bristled, he hated to think that a younger James had lived through something worse. The younger boy had made that statement so casually without any trace of feeling.

" ** _I'm not, I'm not squeamsh._** And stop thinking so loudly. Like I said you shouldn't worry about me."

"Whatever. Stop correcting me! You wonder why the others cant help but pound on you, it's cause your smart ass mouth." The dark haired boy didn't back down he only tried to stand taller and meet the blonds frustrated glare.

"I know why they try to kick the shit out of me and as I said before I don't care! I can take care of myself. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I only keep you around because you're useful. And even then I question my choice." James's eyes danced with rage, his whole little body trembled. "You're an idiot Sebastian a great big idiot and I hate you!" the younger boy turned to run away but Sebastian had longer arms and a good reach, he caught the kid by his collar.

"Yeah yeah. Come on stop having your damn tantrum I'll stop at the corner store and nick you a soda." Sebastian knew giving in wasn't the best reaction but he hated to see James upset like that. Who knows what the kid would get up to, when he fell into a dark mood.

"And some sweets?" Sebbs looked down now at the dark pleading eyes. It never ceased to amaze him how James went from enraged to compliant and cheerful. The kid had mental issues, and for some odd reason Sebastian had a bad feeling they would only get worse.

He thought back to that blond that Watson kid, the one sitting with the posh looking brat at the picnic table. Carl said Watson was supposed to have been like them, in a boys home. The lucky little bastard got himself a scholarship.

Looked like he got to be fed three square meals a day and it kept him out of reach of his drunkard father, well not today, Sebastian smiled briefly then cringed at his own coldness.

Some of the boys hated the Watson kid, hated him for getting to live better. Sebbs looked in front of him to the now skipping dark haired James. He could use a scholarship, get away from the violence and eventuality of aging out of the boys homes. If James could get away he might have a better life he was smart after all, smarter than that wanker Hill who ran the boys Home.

James was smaller than the other boys, Sebbs was a little above average for his age so some of the other boys just as hardened as himself kept their distance. All except Carl, but Sebb had given him something to think about last time he tried anything.

He didn't know James's story in turn James didn't ask his. They had been together at their first home after Sebbs father went to prison, James was brought in bruised and angry the same night Sebb was introduced to his first boys home.

That first night the Irish boy's eyes had darted around his body tense like a scared animal waiting for attack, he refused to talk to anyone. He bit the woman who ran the boys Home on the hand, when she tried to get James to come out from under the table James hid himself under.

It was Sebastian who slid under the kitchen table to join the boy offering him a candy bar he'd stolen from a sweets shop. The young skinny kid with the messy dark hair and piercing eyes snatched it away.

It wasn't James's odd behavior that made Sebb attach to the boy it was the fact he looked so much like Davy. Sebbs's younger brother. He'd failed to keep Davy safe from Dad, and for some reason seeing the small dark haired Irish boy being shoved around by the older kids had triggered something in him. Since then the two have been inseparable, although James did treat him like a servant instead of as a friend.

Sebb knew nightmares haunted the younger boys sleep, and would find James curled up next to him in his small bed. James had been four back then, and Sebastian remembering his little brother Davy used to hide from Dad in Sebbs room, so on those nights Davy would climb into bed with his big brother accepting the warmth and extra blanket, Sebbs would do the same for James.

None of the other boys dared say anything, for all they knew the two were half brothers. This was backed up by the fact that anytime they were moved from one home to another, the social worker made sure not to separate the boys.

James always acted out upon separation, the first time had led to one of the older boys being stabbed with a pencil, another time the house nearly burnt to the ground and though no one could prove it was James's fault, one of Jame's roomates attempted suicide almost successfully.

When the young Irish boy, finally found himself reunited with Sebastian, the social workers discovered just how much less of a pain in the ass the troubled boy with the dark hair and angel's face really was.

"Yes and some sweets. Then we are getting back to the Haven Home before anyone knows we were gone."

"Sebbs those idiots never notice anything unless it threatens their funding. Leave the alibi to me. And you will need more plasters for your ankle."

"You know I wouldn't have gotten bit if you would have staid out of that old woman's locked shed."

"It was locked I wanted to see why. It was all so dull anyway."

"Hey Sebastian. I was looking for you." Sebastian didn't return the wave to Carl.

"Ugh, it's that idiot." James frowned. "Fuck off Carl we're busy!"

"Oh Jimmy boy why don't you go away and get your nap in have Hill change your nappy while he's at it."

"Don't call me Jimmy! Carlie! Where's your precious Artie and your girlfriend Travis? They go off on their own without you? Cant blame him you are rather boring."

"You little foul mouthed-" Sebastian took a threatening step forward.

"Fuck off Carl. Like James said we're busy."

"I was going to the pool wanted to see if you were going to come but I can see you're stuck on babysitting the little freak!"

"Why so your brother can steal Sebb's trainers again. Sebb nicked those fair and square from that shop, Arthur was to chicken to, then he goes and steals them from Sebbs, just shameful." Jame's eyes danced with malice.

"Artie did no such-" Carl looked from the blond to the pale little brat hiding behind Sebb's leg.

"What?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed on Carl.

"Oh, I guess it slipped my mind to tell you Sebbs. After all you did go to the pool without me last week serves you right." James shrugged.

"James damit." Sebastian shook his head.

"Well, I did warn you. And it turned out fine you managed to pick a lock and steal someone's unprotected trainers." James shrugged innocently his angelic face open and vulnerable. Sebastian's one weakness, and James used it to his advantage. Just as quickly that angelic face twisted into a dark scowl turning to the bigger boy. "Better to be a freak then a bed wetting idiot."

Carl growled angrily, Sebastian shoved the bigger kid forcefully.

"Back off Powers!" Sebastian warned.

"He aint right! You know it! That kid's mental! Cut em loose Sebastian he'll only bring you down." Carl sneered at the grinning brown eyed boy. "And you you little freak Sebby here wont always be there for you. One of these days he'll be sent away and you'll be stuck with us. Alone. " Sebastian didn't let Carl continue before he sent a hard fist to his face. Somewhere in the distance the sound of fire trucks sounded.

"If I were you I'd be more worried about where little Artie went off to. Come along Sebby, this is rather boring." The sing song tone in Jame's voice sent a chill through Sebastian, the boy did know how to make an entrance and an exit. Carl glared up at the two from underneath the blond, wiping his mouth he pushed Sebastian from him, running after the passing fire truck.

"Wipe your nose Sebby you'll look suspicious with a bloody nose." James started to skip off, "For someone who cares so much you would think he'd keep a better eye on his brother." Sebastian heard the humming of that song _staying alive,_ something that must have been a song James's parents or whoever had him before, played on a record or sang to him. In times of stress or excitement the boy would hum it out loud or sing it to himself.

_**~0~** _

Sebastian was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his mobile, _Staying Alive_ was a special ring tone that James had programmed into Sebastians new mobile. He answered.

"If you're done reminiscing Sebby dear I have a little job for you."

"Right. Boss I have clear view on the target."

"Patience Sebby patience. You've done good following them around I just need a bit more data before I can plan our next big game. It's going to be explosive." James chirped excitedly, Sebastian just shook his head, twisted kid.

"Yeah. I'm on my way." he sighed heavily, rubbing his sore leg.

"Do pick up a warm pack, your leg is worthless in this cold weather and a limping sniper is a useless sniper to me. Really Sebby I don't know why you couldn't have one of your hired minions follow the Doctor around. I would be bored out of my mind."

"I want this done right."

"Well aren't you focused. This is going to be fun! Dynamite really, see you soon darling don't keep me waiting."

Sebastian didn't say goodbye James wasn't one for goodbyes he'd already ended the call.

He felt the pang of jealousy once more as the two men moved out the door of the pub.

Sebastian couldn't help but wonder just briefly, if John Watson had been sent to Haven Home. Wondered if Watson had met James and Sebastian would he be sitting with Sebbs studying the dark haired detective?

Judging by how well respected the Doctor had been in the army he'd have never gotten on with Carl's little group of thugs. Sebastian shook his head, no that Watson wouldn't have made the cut.

James had a way about him and the Doctor's moral compass would have been his downfall.

Yeah sure Captain Watson had worked on Sebastian's leg back in Afghanistan, apparently a year before being injured himself. Sebastian didn't owe him anything, the good doctor was just doing his Job and so was Sebb.

Sebastian's temper flared, he itched to take out both men, the detective and his dog, right then and there. It would be a mercy because James Moriarty loved games and he always played to win. That and the bastards reminded Sebastian of what he couldn't have.

 


	48. THE MOUSE AND THE TIGER

**CHAPTER 48. THE MOUSE AND THE TIGER**

Sebastian was about to hail a cab when one just pulled up out of nowhere. He didn't say a word just slid into the back seat.

"Sir the boss said to pick you up."

"Yeah." Sebastian shook his head, he wasn't a child he didn't need James treating him like one. He killed people for god sake, he was a sniper after all, Moriarty's enforcer and in between he was the bodyguard. Thankfully James hadnt used his little nickname lately, the one he'd come up with for Sebastian, and to Sebastian irritation the boss loved to address him as Tiger. An endearment coming from anyone else would warrant a knife to the belly.

"There is a bag there sir, Mr. Moriarty had me pick up a few things."

"I bet he did." Sebastian growled knowing the paper bag would have a damn hot pack and some paracetamol. The driver didn't reply and Sebastian was glad for it.

Ever since Sebastian reunited with James, the Irish boy, had been treating him funny. Well strike that James wasn't a boy he was a man now, although he did appear so much younger than he truly was, with his young angelic face, some people underestimated him because of it. And those people wound up at the end of Sebastian's scope or sometimes if James was feeling bored Sebastian would be allowed to use his knife.

This side of James, the _concerned_ side, was very off putting for Sebastian. True the two had grown up together but usually James never reciprocated any kind of feelings of concern or anything really except irritation. James never held back on griping, whining or throwing a tantrum, the boy had an explosive temper, worse than Sebbs's.

He had to laugh now, this whole thing he never really saw coming, James being Moriarty a name that once spoken caused criminals to scatter like cockroaches or clamber over each other to give tribute. That kid always did like attention, negative or otherwise.

James had always been so small and skittish like a mouse, and he wasn't afraid to squeak, bite and claw to get his way. Of course it helped to have a big friend? Brother? Associate, like Sebastian behind him.

All of it was a big surprise, Sebb had been sending home money to James over the years, thinking the kid was in school and working on another scholarly thing or fuck he didn't know, a Doctorate or Phd whatever they called the little pieces of paper posh fuckers hung on the walls of their offices.

Last he heard James was offered a teaching position in some maths department at Oxford, or was it Cambridge he didn't know. He just knew that James had impressed several top schools, that was before he was even out of secondary. Sebbs had urged him to go, and the boy at first refused, he looked so impossibly young almost pleading in the way he had held to Sebbs's arm.

**~0~**

Sebastian tried to reassure James, detaching the kids fingers from his arms and kneeling down, James wasn't as tall as the blond, the kid was going to be twelve and he wasn't anywhere near Sebastian's height. Then again Sebb was tall for his age. Made him look older than he was, and to his advantage meaner.

"James, look at me now. You can't stay here. This place isn't for you. These people are offering you a way out of the pits. You're too smart to be wasting time here. Look what you get up to when you're bored." Sebastian had looked to Mr. Hill who ran Haven home, the older man shook his head watching the younger boy start to gear up for a tantrum.

"No."

"Now James this isn't something you get to turn down." Mr. Hill growled.

"Well it is a big decision for the lad." One of the ladies representing the Uni interjected nervously. "And we did have another young man in the area we considered and he turned us down flat. So it isn't uncommon." the woman looked affronted.

"Oh, Hilda don't take it to heart. The boy's brother did reassure us he would be attending after he graduates. He only wished to stay with his class. He wasn't mentally mature to be with an age group older than his just yet. It may just be the same with this young boy." The other woman gave a sad smile. Sebastian felt the opportunity starting to slip.

"Please give us a minute. He'll go. He's just nervous is all."

"That's a good boy Sebastian you talk to him. Ladies this way please." The old idiot Hill gave Sebastian a warning look. Sebbs knew the old fart wanted to be rid of James.

"You can't make me." The younger boy protested.

"James. You can't stay here, I'm almost too old to be here, and they'll keep you when I get booted." This was Sebastian's fear, when these recruiters came around he knew he'd found a way out. A solution.

"You want to be rid of me?" The kid growled his fists balling at his side.

"Now that isn't it and you know it." Sebastian firmly gave him a shake. "I can't keep protecting you. It's time you go off and make your own way. Besides that whole Carl thing-it was a good thing that Holmes kid wasn't takin seriously. "

"That was a year ago. He deserved what he got! I stopped him from laughing."James spat.

"Lower your voice James. Yeah, you did. And lord knows I hated the kid, but you should have let me take care of it. Now we've got eyes on us. That's no good. This is the best choice."

"You're an idiot Sebastian Moran an idiot and a trader and I hate you!" Sebastian expected the swing and he accepted it, knowing it would hurt the kid's hand more than his face. "I HATE YOU!" and James kept swinging and yelling. Sebastian just absorbed the hits. The kid just needed to get it out, better he hurt Sebastian than himself, or worse.

"It's alright." Sebastian had tried to hold the younger boy, hugging the squirming kid against him, the Irish kid eventually gave in. "You'll make friends with guys who are smart as you. Just remember to stay on your guard. I don't know how those Uni boys party but you stay clear of anything that'll impair you. And if anyone of them professors try anything-"

"those" James had sniffed. "Any of those professors."

"Right, smart arse, right. Just give old Sebby a call. I'll come running. Please, please don't kill anyone. And remember you'll be back here for the summer holiday's and Christmas. Think of all that expensive lab equipment you'll have to blow up." James had pulled out of Sebastian's hold wiping his eyes, he said nothing else. Only collected his things and Sebastian watched them drive the boy away.

Sebb knew back then James would have more opportunity, and someday make his way in the world. Own a bank or some company that brought in millions.


	49. PARTING WAYS

**CHAPTER 49. PARTING WAYS**

It wasn't long after that Sebb enlisted in the army in hopes to make money the only way he knew how, with his muscle. He didn't expect James to understand. He anticipated the begging and pleading, like a brat, the little brat that James Moriarty always would be in Sebastian's eyes. Sebastian made his way across the large campus, ignoring the suspicious glances, he knew James's room number from a letter he'd received a while back.

Finally he found himself standing in front of the door to Jim's room. Giving a nervous knock, feeling out of place in his jeans and black hoodie. Some twerp with a glassy gaze answered the door, and Sebastian thought he was in the wrong place.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry, I was looking for James."

"You mean Jim?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed on the stranger, he was wearing a pair of dress slacks and a buttoned up shirt, looking disheveled, disheveled and high.

" _I mean_ James Moriarty. He here?"

"Roger darling who is it? I'm busy and you're making noise get out."

"I think it's one of the dealers boss. He looks a bit rough. He isn't one of the Cambridge boys that's for sure." Sebastian's fists clinched. He pushed past the idiot.

"James, what in the hell?" he stood in the dorm room, it wasn't messy, everything neatly placed, a well made bed, a large screen television dominated the corner with what looked like a few video game boxes. A leather couch, worn with use but not age. And finally a small table near the window cluttered with chemistry equipment. Except it wasn't exactly a chemistry project. Sebastian knew the smell knew from growing up with an addict, a drug dealer and a murderer what that smell was.

"Best get out Roger." James stood up slowly, eyes on his friend.

"You sure boss?" the kid in the tie took a protective step closer and Sebastian squared up, causing that kid to gulp nervously, but drugs do make you brave so he stood his ground.

"You heard him, get the fuck out of here." Sebb took a step forward, a small hand halted his actions.

"Now Sebbs, good minions are hard to find, don't beat up the best one I have."

"Roger, take that next shipment out. And I want to interview that new kid you've recruited what's the name again. The secondary school kid um Franny?"

"Frankie, boss."

"Right, bring young Franklin here. Now get out. I have business." The younger boy nodded backing out slowly and shutting the door behind him. Sebastian turned on James grabbing him by the collar of his white button up shirt, taking note of the gray suit jacket it looked expensive. Something more than a kid on an orphans pension could afford.

"Drug dealing? Is that what you're learning here?" Sebb gave James a little shake. The boys eyes wide clutching at the fists that bunched up his shirt.

"Release me!" He demanded, Sebastian dropped him down, only to pull back the sleeves of the jacket, ripping the cuffs of the white shirt underneath, he was searching for marks, for scars.

"What do you care. Let go! Ugh! This is Westwood!" the younger boy growled pulling free, running his hands over his shirt and straightening his Jacket. "Look at you so angry." He grinned his dark eyes dancing, chest heaving from the struggle. "Is daddy gonna hit me?" he stuck his bottom lip out in a pout and God help him, Sebb did want to give him a good smack.

"James, drugs? You're smarter than this!"

"Keep your voice down you idiot. Don't worry I'm not taking them. I'm too intelligent for that. Drugs are boring after a while, anyway. Don't look so disappointed Sebastian. I started a little business and it's starting to flourish. These rich kids do like their nose candy. And It's my own formula."

"You'll get caught and they'll expel you. I thought you were doing math!"

"No, don't worry Sebby darling. I've got them all under my thumb. And maths class is getting boring. They have me working with new group of imbeciles-"

"Do you? Do you really James or is this like the little science project you had in the shed? Is this going to almost kill you?"

"Oh you would bring that up. And how were you so sure I wasn't trying to?" James grinned madly, shrugging he moved his eyes from the blond.

"James-" Sebastian didn't know what to say to that.

"Why are you here Sebastian? Oh, and I see you got the watch I sent you! Isn't it-" James stopped speaking his eyes narrowing he took a step towards his surrogate brother. "Why are you here? What's happened? You're going away? You've come here to tell me, personally." Damn James and his ever so observant eyes.

"James. I'm -"

"No." James moved closer, his grin manic, he stared up at his friends eyes. Trying to read them, hold them change what was about to be said, because it was going to be upsetting.

"James, stop. Listen. I've joined the army, in fact I'm due for boot camp. I just wanted to stop in-"

"No!" he propelled himself at Sebastian pushing into his chest "NO! You can't leave! NO!"

"James. You are being childish. You still have some time here, I'm sure by the time I get out you'll have several certificates and stuff claiming you are a right genius. One who can get a job doing shit anywhere. You'll be a consultant for some bank or prime minister. I don't know. You still have all the time to figure it out. I'm getting in early so I can maybe make a career out the army. You don't need me. " Sebastian could see his words taking affect, he felt a chill in the room. James was taller this time around, more naturally lean, always a finicky eater but he at least ate something.

"You're right." He straightened his suit, looking down at his friend. "You're right Sebastian. I wont be needing your services any longer." Sebastian rolled his eyes always with the dramatics this one.

"I'll keep in touch. I have your address and your email. I wont be able to write right away, but I will. And whatever money I get I'll send you some. I don't want you dealing. You were supposed to come here and learn something." There was a gleam in the boy's eyes now, his jaw set.

"I have. I've learned a bit. Swimming in a pool with bigger fish has taught me many things. Things your tiny little brain could never comprehend."

"Alright. Just be smart. Only idiots get caught. At least tell me you are maintaining a low profile."

"You're an idiot Sebastian Moran. And I hate you. I hate you! Get out! Leave! Never speak to me again!"

Sebastian nodded and he left, knowing James he never stayed mad at him at least, longer than a few hours. The longest had been a week, but that hadn't been his fault entirely. Carl and his little gang had got the jump on Sebastian, he ended up in the hospital and James would have followed had he not come down with a mysterious stomach illness that landed him in the same hospital. Crazy little bastard, but Sebastian knew that James couldn't follow not this time.


	50. CORRESPONDING CRIMINALS

**CHAPTER 50. CORRESPONDING CRIMINALS**

The blond never imagined, well maybe in the back of his mind he had considered it, that James would instead put his mind to building a criminal empire.

James's parting words didn't stop Sebastian from sending James money, and in return he would receive a postcard every once and while sometimes an email. Just like James and Sebbs the correspondences were not sentimental in nature. The emails usually seeped with venom from James.

**_Sebbs,_ **

**_School is boring everyone's an idiot. Have you been killed yet?-James_ **

That had been the nicer of the two he usually received every month.

The postcards never said anything but had a picture of different parts of the world, he received one from Italy with an Italian postmark. He asked James what the hell he was doing in Italy and received no reply, then Florida, that was a surprise. He was in the States? All over not a word just a post card with M on the back.

The money that Sebastian sent was money he made after making a few under the table deals. One thing that being in the military gave him was connections, he and a team of five others had a great thing going, selling weapons, smuggling drugs and weapons sometimes girls, boys didn't matter as long as the price was right. All the money he received he had put in a bank account for James. The boy didn't know how to work, well without burning something to the ground or stabbing someone. And a teacher once told Sebastian back in primary school that teachers make shit for money.

It wasn't until he got pinched because on in the team squealed just to make a deal. He hadn't known which one went first but after the others fell like domino's and he was left holding the bag. The name of the government bloke, he recognized and couldn't remember from where. It was familiar to him, _Holmes_. They called him _Mr. Holmes_ , a smug cold bastard with an umbrella.

Sebastian refused to give up anyone he worked with or had traded for and with, and of course this resulted in a dishonorable discharged and tossed into a civilian prison, which had surprised him in the first place, that was unexpected, a civilian prison.

**~0~**

Sebastian wasn't a man that easily feared, when the MP's showed up he faced them down with a scowl and he went with his head up. They took his weapon, his rank and his career, locking him up.

Prison didn't scare him, he lived in a prison his whole childhood, except they were called boy's homes then. Those places taught him, it was big versus small, whoever had the bigger crew in the house bullied the others.

Sebastian had won some and lost some, but losing was few and far between. School was like that, primary, secondary his whole life when pushed he pushed back.

Of course James had a way of calling attention to himself and Sebastian couldn't let them push James around.

He was so little, so little and a right little bastard. Sometimes Sebastian had to look up the insults James used, and he wondered where the hell he learned to talk like that.

The first night in his cell, went relatively quiet. He was put in with a tweeker, the younger inmate proudly sported a shaved head he glared at Sebastian with open animosity.

"Keep yourself out of my shite and we wont be having any troubles." Sebastian sent him a cold glare but no reply. The bald tweeker had a scar running from temple to his jaw line, and an assortment of bad prison tattoos coloring his skin.

Sebastian thought about his own father, briefly wondering if the old man was in this prison somewhere as well. He'd like to run into the bastard and really make his stay worth while.

He knew the murderer was locked up somewhere just never knew or cared to know where, until now. He owed the man, owed him a painfully slow death. He shook off the thought almost immediately, he had other things to worry about.

He knew the government agents hadn't followed the money to James. Maybe James saved the cash Sebastian had sent, hopefully, because Sebbs wouldn't be able to send anything for a while by the sound of things.

The Tweeker watched him hungrily, but Sebastian knew the type, he wasn't likely to make a move while he was awake. Sebastian wasn't in the mood, he was trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do now.

"Come near me shit stain and I'll make you wish I killed you." He growled. The tweeker twitched and glared at him hoping onto the top bunk.

Sebastian didn't sleep, he rarely slept in odd places as a habit. Sometime past midnight when the tweeker tried to shank him just to shank him, the blond army sniper snapped Tweeker's wrist and knocked him out with a hard hit to the side of the bars. Sebb would have gone further if the guards hadn't come running.

When he was finally out of solitary a day later, the guards deciding it was self defense, everyone eyed him like a meal. He just glared right back.

Waiting for an attack, as it turned out tweeker kid belonged to some gang and they wanted revenge. Whatever he'd dealt with that type before. They hadn't assigned a new cellmate, so he slept comfortably knowing tomorrow would be a test, it always was.

Except at breakfast, when he went to sit at a table several others cleared out of his way. He noticed overnight the dark looks sizing him up had disappeared instead the various prisoners eyed him wearily.

Even that little gang of his ex cell mate steered clear. That tweeker by the way was murdered two days later in the showers. From the rumors he heard it wasn't a pleasant or quick murder. Not that Sebbs cared either way.

Things were off, he notice more odd behavior when he'd gone out to lift weights in the yard. Nearing the corner benches several others moved out of the area quickly. At chow he found extra portions and the cooking staff only kept their eyes averted.

Sebastian couldn't help but think there was some kind of unspoken rule, as if he were marked for death, by someone high enough to keep the gangs and even the guards away from him. The damn guards called him Mr. Moran. What the fuck was that about?

Some kid accidentally ran into him in the laundry room and the whole place fell silent. The hair on the back of the sniper's neck prickled, what the hell was wrong with everyone here, weren't they supposed to be hardened criminals?

"Sorry-sorry! It was an accident I swear!" the dark haired kid kept repeating backing away.

"Fine, whatever." Sebastian shrugged. "I could give a fuck." The kid looked relieved.

Hours later that inmate was killed in the courtyard; one of the other prisoners had slammed his head viciously against the pavement.

Sebb wasn't an idiot something was definitely going on, and he couldn't stand not knowing, the tension heavy his death sentence hanging over him. An attack was coming he wanted to know from who, he felt as if he were being watched and he had no idea why.

"Uh, Mr. Moran, sir." One of the prisoners in charge of dealing out the mail and sometimes books, called from outside the bars of his cell.

"What." Sebastian was on his feet ready to strike.

"Can I interest you in a magazine, a book? These are new so the pages aren't sticky yet." Sebastian cringed at the word sticky, he glanced at the small cart of books and magazines.

"What's the catch?" he growled.

"Sir?"

"Drop the shit." Moran reached through the bars and grabbed the jagged toothed bookworm by scruff of his jumpsuit. "What do you want? Nobody gives you anything for free in prison I'm not stupid. What's with everyone here?"

"Is this a test?" the man stuttered nervously, looking around as if expecting someone to jump out behind him.

"What?" Sebastian held tighter.

"Sir, I'm just following orders."

"Wht orders? Who are you-"

"S-sssir. Everyone knows who you are."

"Who I am?"

"Yes. You're with Moriarty." The man whispered low. "The word out to the gangs is no one touches you. N-n-no one-"

"Moriarty? James?" the man's eyes wider now.

"No one calls him by his name, just Moriarty. No one still living." The worm gulped, the color leaving his face, Sebastian let the worm loose. What in the hell? That had to be wrong. James was at school-and even if he wasn't how the hell would he have these types of connections?

He needed to talk to the young man, there had to be a mistake, his friend was just a kid. However his mind was changed by the end of the week.

"Collect your things Mr. Moran your lawyer is here you're free to go."

"What?" Sebastian was on his feet.

"This way sir." Sebastian didn't have anything in the cell worth keeping, he was taken to collect his items, the things he had come in with. His watch, his wallet ect. Finally to a release area where he found a stranger in dark glasses and an expensive suit waiting.

"Sebby!" An all too familiar sing songy voice cheered. He blinked to find a stranger in front of him, a stranger but not really.

"James?"

"Sebbs. Look at you. They haven't been feeding you properly. I should have a word with the warden." He glared at the prison guard.

"Well come along, can't stay here we have wasted enough time." Sebastian followed in a daze. James marched him quickly by the arm towards the exit and outside where an expensive black car waited, he held his questions in until they were safely driving away.

"Wait. James? How the-"

"Oh, of course you have questions. Well go on, lets get them over with." He chirped excitedly.

"How did you get me out?"

"Well my dear it's impossible to keep you imprisoned when those who turned evidence against you either disappeared or died before they could testify. It's a shame. You know you should have been a bit more picky with choosing your partners in crime. If I've learned anything it's loyalty can be bought, but fear-fear is priceless." Sebastian couldn't see James's eyes behind his dark glasses but he knew they were sparkling.

"Doesn't matter. I've cleaned it up for you. Paid off a judge, nothing new. You're out! And I have a job for you Tiger!"

"Job?"

"Yes dearest! Has that army addled your brain? Stop repeating after me. A job. I have several business contacts not holding up their ends. I need you to send them a message. And of course I do have some new recruits I want you to train."

Sebastian looked over at the young man. "What exactly have you been up to these last couple years?"

"What haven't I!" he beamed. "So much to tell you. I was a little put out you chose to go off to war. But I have used the money you've sent and invested in our business. Well my business but you are my silent partner associate whatever. Title's are so blasé! I'll fill you in on the details. First we have to get you a shower and some clothes, the rags you are wearing need to be burned."

"James." Sebastian smiled slowly.

"Yes, Sebby."

"Thanks."

"Like I said you're an idiot, but a useful one." Sebastian held back a laugh, the relief that everything was fine. James was a criminal mastermind of some kind but wasn't that how it was in the real world dog eat dog. James had a great mind for strategy and numbers. Sebastian would be the muscle, just like old times. Except they would have the bigger crew on the block.


	51. THE THINGS WE SEE

**CHAPTER 51. THE THINGS WE SEE  
**

Mycroft sat in his comfortable throne like chair, his clean-shaven chin balanced upon the knuckles of his left hand. Gray eyes sharp, and following the now stiff legged movements of a blond man in a brown jumper.

The man's steady hands moving making accusing gestures, punctuating his words with a wagging finger and his chest heaving. All details that Mycroft picked up on to conclude John was angry.

The younger man in the brown Jumper would think he was getting his point across, thinking that the British Government's silence was a sign of a remorseful apologetic man.

Being a good man he would also assume that the older, gray-eyed minor employee of the British Government was seeing the error of his ways.

Regrettably that is not what Mycroft Holmes was thinking at all, he was a million miles away.

Not normally a man that day dreams, or rather really dreams at all, Mycroft Holmes found his mind wondering away, perhaps it was the familiarity of the situation, or the lack of sleep these last few weeks.

No it wasn't the obnoxious younger brother that robbed him of what little rest the older Holmes was allotted on such a tight schedule.

It was this infuriating Moriarty, he was vying for Mycroft's attention, unlike Sherlock who was self-destructive, this maniac was blowing things up. Word reaching Mycroft that the mad man and his assassin was in London, could they know about Bond Air?

"Mycroft?" The older Holmes jumped; John was crouched down in front of him, eyes narrowed glancing over his face. "When was the last time you've had something to eat?" John went into Doctor mode. Mycroft frowned now pulling back a little not too fond of being in close proximity to anyone, although John wasn't just anyone.

"Pardon?"

"S'what I thought. You Holmeses might be master geniuses but when it comes to eating and don't look at me that way. We both know Sherlock's a twit and only jabs at your weight because he has yet to realize you aren't twenty anymore and even then you weren't over weight just a bit more rounded.

I blame Sylvie for all the pies and cakes she used to force feed us at the table. Anyway where are the, oh, here we are."

John opened the door and stuck his head out, gesturing for one of the staff members an older gentleman in his late forties, the man remained silent and entered the room before speaking.

"How may I help you sir?"

"Yeah, uh will you bring Mr. Holmes something for lunch? Whatever it is that he normally has and some tea and biscuits. Thanks." The man in the black penguin like uniform nodded and John watched the white gloved thin man with the black suit tails disappear down the silent corridor. Turning back to Mycroft he plopped down in the chair.

"You know there are others available to run the country. Just at least eight hours maybe six of sleep would do you good. When's the last time you had a physical?" Mycroft wasn't accustomed to anyone speaking to him so informally about his personal health. "I'll take your silence as at least a year and half ago."

"Yes, that's correct, the government requires even their minor employees to undergo a yearly physical." Mycroft tried to read the Doctor's expression, he was thoughtful.

"I bet he's said something about more rest and you bullied him into keeping it out of your report. Probably suggested some exercise and sunshine. Also shot down." Mycroft was startled how did the man know that.

"Because I know you." John answered his non verbal question. "I know you and _I am_ a Doctor, nothing fancy like the government boys but good enough to see fatigue and vitamin deficiency when I see it. Easily remedied by rest, three meals a day and some sunshine."

"Sunshine?" Mycroft made a face, "I get plenty of sun-"

"Ah, here is something a nice sandwich and soup. Now, I'm not an idiot I know you'll ignore the more rest suggestion what with Korean elections, American Presidents, CIA, MI whatevers and Government projects, keeping you busy. So being a soldier I know how to pick my battles. That said, Mycroft Holmes I expect you to eat three meals a day and at least spend some time walking the park. Perhaps you would find the time if you weren't so busy worrying over the health of others." John gestured for him to go ahead and eat. Mycroft realized he was hungry, when did he last have something to eat? 

"Now as I was saying Mr. Holmes. I am an adult. I'm not some kid-" He could hear the words John was throwing at him, but his eyes and his mind did not see the man in the brown jumper.

No instead he saw a young ten year old John Watson in a ridiculous maroon jumper and his faded jeans with the grass stains at the knees. A nervous smile on his slightly rounded face. What he saw was a young boy with blond hair neatly cut, eyes bright and truthful.

If Mycroft continued to take in the details he could see that John's short legs didn't touch the ground in the large chair instead they swung absentmindedly back and forth. Of course this was all in his mind. Obviously exhaustion was getting the best of him. However if Mycroft allowed himself to further explore this hallucination he would make out a cast on the boy's left arm with several scribbles. Mycroft observed once that someone had drawn a small sailboat with a pirate flag and sharks swimming in the waters somewhere near the wrist.

He would always remember how the boy would shoot nervous glances not wishing to hold a stare too long, always tense waiting for someone to lash out.

How did this memory work it's way out from the cells of his mind's fortress? Sentiment wasn't something hard to suppress for Mycroft Holmes the notorious iceman.

Mycroft recalled that this version of John was a default reference he fell back on, when the younger man came forward to plead Sherlock's case. This is what made John Watson dangerous.

How could he have forgotten all of this, he was never really angry at John. More disappointed, he'd always thought of John as reliable as another set of eyes to watch out for his little brother.

What kind of pressure was that for a young boy? John Watson had questioned Mycroft and Father's distance from the younger Holmes. Perhaps it was because John made people care, made them feel. Guilt was the part of sentiment and nostalgia Mycroft loathed most, almost more than feelings of helplessness.

Mycroft let out a heavy exhale marveling at how difficult it was to concentrate or even pay ample attention to this man's words when they seem to be coming from a ten year old child pretending to be older than he is.

"So, do we have a deal?" John was looking at him with those blue eyes, in that voice still light and squeaky a tenor, not having yet hit the baritone that came after puberty. This was the disadvantage to an eidetic memory, everything could be recalled with such clarity, even down to the scent of dirt, grass and honey from traipsing after bees with Sherlock in the gardens.

It took everything in Mycroft to look repentant, his lips fixed he shifted in his chair, uncomfortably. He did need to push these memories away, nostalgia and sentiment were toxic emotions, he had no time to entertain them.

"John, I will be more delicate with the information. Regarding your past. I only released what I thought necessary for the DI to-"

"Best handle me? Did you expect him to put the kid gloves on with me, I'm not some some-" Mycroft could see John as a child with the fading bruise around his right eye, throwing up his arms in exasperation.

"John don't you have work today?" The young boy's eyes widened and he looked down at his watch, Mycroft attempted to shift the conversation towards more neutral ground.

"Well I better go. This isn't over Mycroft Holmes. Eat your sandwich. Don't make me have a talk with your physician, I promise I am far more intimidating then you. When need be." It took everything in the older Holmes to not allow the grin tickling the edges of his lips to break free from the usual tight-lipped expression of passive disinterest.

John only shook his head locking eyes momentarily with the older Holmes, squaring up. "I have a feeling you heard nothing I said. Seeing how I have to get to work-"

"John, I'll have a car drop you off." Mycroft offered coolly. Sitting back, his gray eyes similar to Sherlock's, although some would say where the younger Holmes's were analytical, and disinterested Mycroft's were calculating and cutting.

Like snow and ice those two, both very cold but they had separate melting points. Some found Sherlock's callousness almost tolerable they grew accustomed to his eccentricities and after a time no longer batted an eye when he spoke. Maybe because he had such dark features mummy's handsome looks.

As for Mycroft, his expressionless face, and hard stare was disconcerting and uncomfortable, to the point people skirted out of his path to avoid it. These were the eyes that tried to lock onto John's sky blue. Except the British Government who indeed had inherited his father's appearance, did not receive the usual response. Instead John Watson shook his head "You are impossible I must be mad for associating with you two." And with that he turned on his heels marching towards door pausing briefly he threw over his shoulder "This isn't over Mycroft Holmes."

Mycroft shook his head, of course it was. John Watson could never stay angry longer than a week.


	52. Patience and Patients

**CHAPTER 52. Patience and patients  
**

John was looking forward to the end of his shift, still working locum at Sarah's clinic he found the work a nice change in pace to the busy hospital. Not that he would ever give up his hours at the hospital for the slower pace of the clinic. He liked being busy, at night he was often so tired he barely made it into his nightclothes before falling into a fitful sleep. After months of inaction this was the perfect prescription, and once more he was useful. Today he was feeling more tired then usual, he hoped he wasn't coming down with anything. Sherlock would never forgive him if he brought home a cold or a flu.

"Uh, Doctor." the light voice of a blond nurse interrupted his musings. 

"Yes Lilly".

"There's a gentleman here asking for you. He looks a bit roughed up. He wont let any of the other Doctor's see him. Claims you are the only one competent enough to be his Doctor. He's insisting to be seen by only you. His father apologized for him, at least he's a nice bloke." John knew exactly who she was talking about." I have a patient in exam room four waiting for you as well." John ran a hand over his face. He knew the pair she was talking about, it was funny that she assumed Greg was Sherlock's father. If only she knew the real Holmes senior.

"I'm sorry Lilly. He's my flatmate."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry." She replied with a sympathetic smile.

"Sherlock, Detective Inspector. What the hell happened?" Sherlock had a deep cut on his cheekbone and he was holding his side.

"Nothing to worry about John, except the Detective Inspector demanded we come here and be seen before I could go home." John could hear the restrain in the his friends voice, John was experienced enough to know from that alone that Sherlock was in pain, and determined not to show it.

"No, I tried to get this stubborn git to the A&E and he refused, said if he has to see a Doctor, he rather it be **_his_ ** Doctor."

"I'll take him to the back, sorry Detective Inspector." John nodded stiffly, as if reporting for duty.

"It's fine, I'll wait right here. Idiot. Who goes off and get's into a fist fight with pipe wielding suspect?"

"I caught him didn't I? And where were you lot-" Sherlock growled.

"Not here. Come on." John intervened not wishing more of a show, he then  allowed his flatmate to lean into him, well aware of some of the glances from the clinic staff. Let them talk.

"I don't know why you chose to work here on call, you do have enough hours at the Hospital." Sherlock held back a groan as he lay back on the exam table.

"I like feeling useful, and I enjoy being a doctor." John replied.

"Tedious." Sherlock rolled his eyes, then cried out when John none so gently pressed on a bruised area around his ribs. "You're a sadist!"

"Oh, stop you're crying. I'm going to need a scan. Did you hit your head at all?"

"No, he caught me with the pipe just once before I managed to disarm him."

"Well I'll say your fighting skills haven't improved."

"Are we done here?"

John shook his head. "After the scan. Now you be nice to nurse Lilly, or no lolly afterward."

"I hate you." Sherlock growled as a nurse instructed him to get into a wheel chair.

"That patient is still in room four Doctor." Lilly reminded gently.

"Can we get this going I have things to do." Sherlock winced as the nurse wheeled the dark haired man towards the corridor.

"Don't mind him Lilly he was born without manners." She held back a giggle.

Sitting on the table in exam room four was a red haired boy with green eyes he was making faces at the dark haired four year old who tugged at the legs of his trousers.

"Ian you leave Mattie alone, stop pulling on him." Gloria looked over at her son with a stern but amused expression. 

"It's alright ma'am I don't mind. He's just bored." Mathew stuck his tongue out at the boy who laughed again, returning the gesture.

John took a moment to see the genuine smile play across the boy's face as the familiar redhead reached down with his left hand and ruffled the younger child's dark hair.

John noted the cast was gone, probably a week ago. The boy looked so much healthier, his cheeks flushed from easy laughter.

Mathew wore a school uniform; his blazer sitting with Mrs. Kelly, the bruises had faded from the boys face a rounder face, looked like Mrs. Kelly had got her way.

Sherlock had enjoyed the biscuits and apple crumble Officer Kelly had brought John as a token of thanks. John had to practically twist Sherlock's arm to get him to eat, but bring some biscuits into the flat and they disappeared mysteriously within minutes.

"Mattie you don't have to call me ma'am. You can-"

"Hello." John greeted the small group. The young dark haired Ian put an arm around the older boys left leg, hugging it, pushing his face into the back of Matthew's knee.

"Ian don't be shy you remember Doctor Watson." Gloria tried to pull the younger boy from Mathew's leg, he held tight.

"It's alright. He isn't hurting anything is he Doc?" Mathew asked his hand on Ian's small shoulder.

"No, he can stand right there. What a pleasant surprise." John held back a laugh as the youngest Kelly was glaring at him suspiciously.

"I thought you worked at the hospital. If I knew we'd run into you here I would have brought you some more biscuits and maybe scones."

"You are a wonderful cook Mrs. Kelly, you boys are very lucky." Matthew looked down at his hands shyly Ian only continued  to hug the older boy's leg.

"Please Doctor, call me Gloria." John held the clipboard and scanned it one more time. "And you are too kind. It's the least we can do to show our appreciation."

"Looks like we are just doing a follow up. How are you feeling Matthew."

"He's ar's you can't take him." Ian shot a hard glare at John.

"Ian Henry Kelly!" Gloria scolded, "That is no way to talk to our friend Doctor Watson."

"It's alright Gloria." John crouched down to be at eye level with the dark haired boy " Well Ian it's good to see you are feeling better how's your scar?"

"Fine. Thanks." Ian answered slowly still suspicious.

"Well I'm only here to check on Mathew's scar. He wont be going anywhere but home after this."

"Promise." Ian seemed to relax.

"Cross my heart." The boy's shoulder's loosened. "Alright. My daddy is a policeman." He warned.

"Ian." Gloria reached for him shooting the Doctor an apologetic look.

"You look like him." John smiled down at Ian.

"Do you know my daddy?" he asked.

"Yes I do. And Mathew here is a good friend as well."

"It's okay E, Doctor Watson is nice enough. And I bet if you're good and mu-uh your mum says it's fine. He'll have a lolly for you." This brightened the boy, he went to sit next to his mother.

"Alright let's take a look then." John listened to the boy's lungs and heart the usual examination, the nurse had already weighed the boy and John was right to believe Mathew had gained some weight. He was nearly at the standard. He examined the healing arm, the young boy winced as John pressed over the tender area. The scar was healing well, but he worried about the boy's bones. From recent history he'd broken it more than once.

"I want you taking it easy. No sports just yet. It's going to take you a little longer for that bone to be strong enough to handle any kind of stress. I'll send home instructions on a daily exercise I want you to do with this arm."

"Will it be alright?" Gloria was standing next to Mathew petting his head worriedly.

"He'll do just fine. As long as he follows the instructions."

"He will. Mattie is good, he always listens." Ian provided proudly.

"Unlike some people." Gloria shot her youngest a warning look. John held back a laugh.

"Alright, I'll have the nurse bring in the paperwork."

"How is everything else Mathew? You sleeping alright?" the young boy nervously glanced from Gloria to the younger boy. As if on cue Gloria said, "Mattie I'm going to take Ian to get something to drink. Do you want anything?"

"No ma'am." She kissed his head. "We'll be out in the waiting room when you're all through." John could see how Ian was about to protest.

"Oh, no you don't E go on. I'll be out." The dark haired boy allowed his mother to lead him away, shooting a worried look to the older boy.

 


	53. SHADOWS

## CHAPTER 53. SHADOWS

 

"He's alright. I've never had a little brother before, I suppose that's what it's like.' Mathew shrugged.

John nodded he thought of Sherlock most likely giving the nurse a hard time.

"Yes, I know the feeling."

 "So looks like you were placed in a good home. How are the Kelly's treating you?"

"Oh, they're nice people." Mathew replied quickly. "They're very nice-"

"Except?"

"I don't know I keep thinking he's coming back." Mathew chanced a quick look up at Doctor Watson and then back to his hands in his lap.

"He's not."

"What if he does?" Mathew kept his eyes averted, his small hands clasping and unclasping.

"Well I suppose he'll have a fairly irritable constable in his way, not to mention that little brother that has decided you aren't going anywhere."

"I-"

"Mathew." John took a deep breath. "The Kelly's are great people. They wanted to take you in. I suppose that's how you were placed. The officer must have some pull and they wouldn't place you if they didn't think so." John refused to think about his own father.

"They want to adopt me, take me on. Give me their name. She said I can call her mum when I'm ready." The boy mumbled his chin to his chest.

"That sounds great." John pulled a stool over to sit in front of the boy, the lower point allowed John to seem less intimidating, giving Mathew the height advantage.

"Yeah, but-"

"But?" John pressed gently.

"I don't know. Doesn't seem fair to them."

"How so?”

"I'm not anyone." Mathew’s green eyes watery found John’s blue, John winced from the honesty in them, but he refused to look away, offering the boy his own handkerchief.

"You are someone Mathew. And especially to them. And I would dare anyone say that to Mr. Ian."

"The kids pretty outspoken. He's going to be like his mum I think. You should see her when she gets started.” Mathew smiled brightly then quickly adding “Oh, but never to me.” The boy smiled again “ But officer Kelly forgot to take his boots off and it had rained, he tracked mud all over the carpet. I thought he was for sure a gonner." John laughed imagining poor officer Kelly being reprimanded by the short redhead. "I thought the way she was talking to him he would be angry, but he just stood there apologizing like he was Ian. It was the damndest thing-I mean it was the oddest thing to see. And that Mrs. Kelly can cook. And the school I go to is nice. I have new clothes and some of the guys ask me about officer Kelly being my dad, they said it's cool he's a policeman. He picked me up once and he was wearing his uniform. I get to walk home with Ian sometimes." He was clasping his hands in his lap.

"That all sounds great."

"Yeah, but what if he comes back I don't want to leave them. But I don't want him to hurt anyone."

"Mathew. Listen he's not coming back. And even if somehow he got out he wouldn't dare go anywhere near the officers house. He's a coward Mathew. He doesn't deserve to be your family. You have the Kelly's now. It’s important you keep talking to the nice therapist they’ve set you up with. Let them take care of you, you can be a kid.” Mathew only nodded and shrugged. “ I know I've always wanted a little brother."

"You were an only child?" Mathew sounded surprised.

"Naw I had an older sister, but she was always ten years older than me. Let me show you something." John pulled his own sleeve back he held out his arm and Mathew could see the thin white line of a scar, he looked at his own, they were similar.

"Did you fall too?"

"Yeah, off my bike. I didn't even have a bike." John shrugged.

"What happened?"

"I grew up, and went away to school. I spent most my time with a close friend and his family. Probably the only family I've known. Not the sanest mind you but they did alright. I never had a little brother, but I suppose that's what it's like. So don’t dwell too much on the words he said. And the things he's done. He's the troubled one. You did nothing wrong. Here. Here's my number if you ever need to talk. About anything, anytime."

"Thank you Doctor Watson." Mathew wiped his nose again with the handkerchief he offered it back.

“Keep it I’ve got more.” John patted the young boys knee.

"You're a good kid Mathew. You deserve this second chance. That and I'm kind of jealous Mrs. Kelly can cook. Now we better get going, or your little brother might come looking.”

Gloria smiled brightly she put an arm out to pull the younger boy into her, Ian continued to scowl at John, he clung to Mathew’s arm.

"All done.” John smiled easily, but Ian didn’t look fooled.

"Here you go twerp." Mathew handed a red lolly to the younger boy. Gloria was about to thank the Doctor when a very loud and very whiny baritone voice interrupted the two.

"John! Can I go now? The witch in the back claims they're not broken."

"Sherlock.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not until I look at your x-rays. So please wait patiently in the exam room.

"But John-" the two young boys were watching the taller man protest.

"Shut it. Get into the exam room." John excused himself apologizing

Mathew turned to see the Doctor shaking his head at the dark haired man.

 

He smiled briefly he knew that exasperated look. He often shot Ian the same look. It was good the Doctor had someone. Everyone deserved a family.

 

"Mummy can we stop at the park on the way home to feed ducks?" Ian pleaded.

"I don't know."

"Please mum it'll be fun." Matthew shyly brought his green eyes to meet Gloria's.

"Yes, boys, why not. Lets go. Dad will be home soon. So we can't be gone too long."

 

Leaving the clinic Gloria was unaware of being followed, and later when John was leaving from the end of his shift with Sherlock in tow, he two hadn’t observed the tall blond standing near unnoticed seemingly texting when in reality he was watching the two men climb into a cab.


	54. BREAKING

**CHAPTER 54. BREAKING**

"I see the Kelly's have taken on another mouth to feed. I'm sure Mrs. Kelly is excited to have another to feed up." Sherlock climbed into the cab, John didn't reply he only nodded. Sherlock thought his friend was unusually thoughtful after his meeting with the Kelly clan.

Perhaps the circumstances were bringing up bad memories for the young Doctor. Sherlock recalled the young red haired boys green eyes.

"At least he has a steady home. Constable Kelly is a good man. A rising star, he is the least idiotic of the group at the yard." John nodded again. Sherlock ignored the ache in his ribs, observing how his friend held his left wrist subconsciously.

Sherlock grimaced not from the sudden bumpy route the idiot cabbie had decided to take but a memory that he'd thought he deleted long ago.

**~0~**

"Hey, what was that all about?" John loosened his school tie sitting next to his friend on the park bench. "You can't just nearly jump out of a moving vehicle, I think you gave poor Royce a heart attack."

"I hate Mycroft. I can't stand his presence I'd rather walk."

"Sherlock he wasn't meaning anything by it. He just wants your father to get off your case. So he probably thinks if he can get you to-"

"Conform? Act normal?"

"You are normal." John shouldered his friend. "Don't believe that you aren't you just see everything different. Maybe we all are idiots, even Mycroft and your dad, but they do care about you. Don't you think it was a little harsh to call him a fat pompous ass? And that you refuse to fan the flames of his ego by being complacent? Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"I hate him John!"

"Why? Why? He isn't so bad." John asked gently, a hand on his friends shoulder.

"What do you know about it?" the dark haired boy growled, rolling his shoulder back from the blond boy's touch, his eyes narrowing on his friend, feeling betrayed by his words. "Don't tell me you have fallen under the bastards spell. He is-"

"Hey, hey." John put his hands up unbuttoning his blazer, loosening his tie. "Listen. I'm not saying I'm wanting to hold hands with him and take orders. He can be a right bastard. But at least he cares."  
"He's obligated John, don't confuse that with caring. He doesn't have a heart for sentiment, our father's favorite little puppet." John withdrew a little afraid to ask maybe, if that extended to himself.

"Right, obligation. I don't think that's-"

"Why are you defending him?"

"Sherlock calm down mate. I'm just trying to help."

"Well don't. And what do you know about it? Your sister is no better a fitting example of sibling endearment."  
"Sherlock." John warned.

"What it's true. Do you think she gives you more than a passing thought? She never answered any of the letters you wrote all year."

"Stop. Why do you have to say things like that?" John was starting to slide away from him on the wooden bench, his hands grasping the edge of the old sun warped wood table. Sherlock realized he may have gone too far. John didn't get a chance to say anything else when a shadow fell over the two.

"Been looking for you, you little bastard." John who had been glaring at his friend, lost all color in his face. Sherlock's gray eyes tried to meet his friend's. John was afraid, his shoulders stiff, his breathing short and Sherlock was instantly sorry he said what he had. Sometimes his anger got away with him and he lashed out but John always just let it roll off his back.

Sherlock could see the taller blond man, the one that his friend would some day grow to resemble so strongly. Except perhaps without the permanent scowl, the blood shot eyes, and whiskey soaked breath. No John wouldn't be pathetic, ruled by darker emotions. This was what father warned about, this is what happens to weaker men who allow sentiment and emotion to cloud their judgment.

"You were supposed to come straight home." John swallowed, not meeting his father's hard scowl.

"I am sorry sir. I was-uh on on my way." John replied moving away from Sherlock he slowly started to stand.

"Yeah, don't look like it. Looks like you were meaning to fuck around out here. You lazy little bastard. Don't care that your aunt was waiting for you the last hour?"

"I just, I just got off the train twenty minutes ago Dad." John explained quickly.

"Sir." He snapped, John and Sherlock both flinched at the biting tone.

"Sir." John's voice was surprisingly steady. "I didn't expect to see you home. When-"

"What did you think they'd keep me at that damn clinic forever. Bunch of crying cowards unable to cope with what they had to do. I'm not going to be in some crying knitting circle with a bunch of old vets, drying out. Decided to cut it short. Anyway that's my business. Imagine my surprise I get home to find Harry's moved out again. Indecent little slut. And your aunt tells me you've been away at school. So let's have a look at you. Don't you look proper in your fancy clothes? So you think you're better en us?" John didn't say anything and Sherlock still remained still both boys not wanting to draw attention, the younger dark haired boy could feel the bubbling anger rolling off the volatile drunk. When John didn't reply his father barked "Answer me boy! What do they not show you any manners at your new school?" Sherlock could only hear his own heart pounding in his ears.

"No-no sir." John whispered.

"You do don't you? Look at you. So is this one of your new little friends?" John's eyes were wide now, he climbed off the bench. "He know you're just a poor mechanics son? Or do you just keep us all a secret?" Sherlock didn't have a chance to react one minute John was standing the next he was pulled by his shirtfront over the table.

"Nnno" and a hand came down hard on John's face, Sherlock had been punched by older boys and kicked but he'd never witnessed this kind of violence. It seemed so raw, and cold John had been knocked to the ground.

"Sir!" his father snarled.

"Sir." John replied shakily.

"I see they let you have the run of the place there? Your hair is getting to long what are you a girl now?" Mr. Watson hauled John to his feet by his hair. "Answer me boy!"

"No, sir." Sherlock flinched again turning away from the sound of an open hand slap.

"Stop! Stop it!" Sherlock didn't know when he started yelling but he had. "You let go of him or I'll-" John shook his head warningly, but Sherlock ignored it.

"You'll what? Cry to your daddy? He know you keep company with the help?" Sherlock's silence made the man laugh.

"Well My lord," he gave a mock bow, "If you don't mind me and my son have some manners to work on."

"You-" Sherlock started forward but John pulled his arm free putting himself between his father and the younger boy knowing what verbal barbs the younger boy was capable of.

"Leave it." John whispered, Sherlock wouldn't though he scowled at the older man,

"You are just a feeble minded man, to weak to deal with his feelings of inadequacy, you're a failure as a father, a husband and and a disgrace as a soldier-" John put his hands out to stop his father from grabbing at the younger boy.

"No! Stop!" John pushed into his father's torso." Sherlock took a step back John wasn't thinking now his father made to push him away, the smaller boy ducked out of the way of the blow meant for his head.

"Run!" He grabbed his friend's arm. "Run! Go!" The sounds of sirens were nearing. Sherlock thought stupidly that Mycroft had somehow called help, John was wrench back he almost took Sherlock with him barely remembering to let go of his hold on the younger boy, only jerking him back instead of completely off his feet. "Go! Find Mycroft." John yelled.

Sherlock could see the sirens moving away towards some dark smoke somewhere to the left of the park, they weren't coming to help, he could hear John's father's harsh words. The fury radiating like heat off a sidewalk. Sherlock tried to think logically, he couldn't help he could only stand there just at the edge of the park, with the haunting sounds of John's father and the sirens mixing together. The young seven year old had his hands over his ears, a heavy hand came down on his shoulder he jumped.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft could see right away something was wrong "What's wrong?"

"John." Sherlock sobbed.

"Did you have a row?" the younger boy shook his head, his heart pounding.

"Royce." Mycroft turned to the man in the black suit.

"Sir?"

"John. Mycroft. He's-please you have to do something." He pulled on his brother's arm sleeves. "Stop him." Mycroft looked to Royce who held a determined look on his face stepping around the young masters. Mycroft tried to get his brother to make sense.

"Sherlock calm down. Tell me what's happened."

Sherlock pulled free from his brother and followed Royce, their sometimes chauffeur sometimes butler wasn't a very big man himself. It would be best to call the police, what would a chauffeur know about fighting? Mycroft not used to running took a little longer to come up short behind his brother nearly running him down. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his expensive jacket's sleeve. It wasn't very gentlemanly to sweat.

Royce brought a hard kick to the drunk's side, and left him groaning a few feet away. Mycroft could see John who had been smiling warmly earlier at something absolutely ridiculous the younger Holmes had said. He was trying to sit up.

"John?" He kneeled down placing a hand on the younger boys arm he whimpered only curling into a ball. Royce sent another booted foot down against the groaning older Watson's shoulder. Happy to hear the grunt and pop from dislocating the shoulder.

"John?" Sherlock was on his knees. "I'm sorry. John." Sherlock looked to Mycroft worriedly, silently pleading for him to fix it.

Royce leaned over whispering something that no one heard to nearly unconscious Mr. Watson.

"John, can you sit up?" Mycroft didn't know where to touch the younger boy, his blazer was torn and bloody.

"Give me a minute." He gasped, trying to steady his own breathing, John held his arm to his chest, his head buried in the grass, his knees under his chest.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock whispered. The other boy tried to shrug only to hiss in pain.

Without further conversation, Royce scooped the injured boy up, something that startled the younger Holmes, John looked small being carried towards the car, his legs dangling over Royce's forearm, and head resting under the thin chauffeur's chin.

Once inside, Sherlock slide over on the seat next to his friend, eyes observing the way John held his arm to his chest, the wrist hung at funny angle. John didn't say anything he leaned a head against the tinted window closing his eyes and trying to breathe steadily.

**~0~**

"John?" Sherlock broke the silence of the cab. "Chinese?"

"Sounds wonderful." John replied.

"Good, I called in our order. There is an experiment I've been wanting to do."

"Does it involve fingers?"

"That was last weeks John. Do keep up."


	55. THE CONVERSATIONS WITH OURSELVES

**CHAPTER 55. THE CONVERSATIONS WITH OURSELVES**

John returned from his late shift at the A&E to find both Holmes brothers sitting in the living room in complete silence. Well it would appear to be complete silence but in reality they were arguing mentally, the air was thick with hostility. He made his way to the couch and plopped down,

"Oh, great what's happened now?" both brothers remained glaring, dueling gray eyes icy, cool and unyielding. **_"Oh, nothing John how are you today."_** John decided to do an impression of Sherlock's deep baritone voice.

"Oh why I'm wonderful thanks Sherlock." he answered his own question.

**_"Yes, John that is quite the jumper you're wearing is it new?"_** his best and worst Mycroft impression.

"No, but thank you Mycroft. I haven't worn it in a while." he smiled cheerfully.

This got both brothers to look over as John continued to hold a conversation with himself imitating their voices horribly. Half way into a conversation about the old woman whose cat somehow got loose in the waiting room, only because she thought she was bringing it to the vet, this resulted in two allergic reactions and a handful of riled children all running about trying to catch the small ball of gray fur. Then resulting in three angry parents, and several tetanus shots, Sherlock decided to end the ridiculous and confusing conversation.

"What are you going on about John?" Sherlock snapped.

John looked across at him only shrugging.

"Nothing important. So what do we owe the pleasure Mycroft?"

"Mycroft is appealing to my sense of family and duty."

"Oh? I take it, it's not working?"

"You would be correct Doctor Watson." Mycroft was clutching the umbrella handle. John knew him long enough to know this was a bad thing. "We can talk later Sherlock."

"Don't bother the answer will still be no." Sherlock flung at his brother with such disdain that John flinched.

"Sherlock surely you can grant a dieing man his last wish?" Mycroft sighed heavily his eyes hard and unreadable to anyone else but the younger Holmes.

"Sentiment dear brother, he should understand by now, after all he did teach us this right? Sentiment isn't-"

"Sherlock?" John was frowning who could Mycroft be talking about? The older Holmes had a smug grin on his face now. As if he was just offered a large piece of chocolate cake with extra frosting. Sherlock realized too late what his brother was up, Mycroft's grin disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

"John. What are you doing this weekend?"

"As in the day after tomorrow?" John asked suddenly but Sherlock was on his feet.

"No Mycroft!" he warned.

"Well I think he would love to see Doctor Watson again. After all these years. I think the last time the two last spoke was sometime after starting UNI. Christmas maybe."

"No! Mycroft leave John out of this."

"Very well then. Gentleman." Mycroft started to leave a white knuckled grip on his umbrella.

"What just happened?" John asked no one in particular but it was the retreating Mycroft to answer irritably.

"Do keep up John. My father has requested Sherlock's presence, as the man is dieing-"

"Not quick enough." Sherlock growled.

"Wait. Wait. Hold on. Sherlock I thought you said your father was dead. Cancer you said."

"Well it was half true, he's _**dead to**_ me and he _**does** _ have cancer. Leave it John." Sherlock threw himself back in his chair.

"But he's your father."

"Well he didn't act like it."

"It wasn't like you made it very easy." Mycroft snapped before leaving the flat.

John wondered over the fallout. Was there no way to repair that broken relationship? He took a deep breath and made an attempt at reasoning with his best friend. "If you don't go you may regret it later, not having said your peace. Sometimes it's easier to just tell them how you feel while he can at least give you a reason for being so distant. You aren't a machine Sherlock." Sherlock scanned John's pinched expression.

"Would you have? If it were your father, would you have gone home?" Sherlock locked eyes with John, but John looked away first and shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. But it's not about me. My chance was long passed. The last thing I said to my father while he was still alive wasn't exactly pardoning."

"Would you have? Forgiven him?"

"I forgave him a long time ago Sherlock. It's just not worth carrying around that anger. No one benefits from it, and the only one who can truly feel it is you."

"Character flaw John Watson, you are entirely too forgiving."

"My father was troubled I don't know what he was going through. It must have been bad if he was trying to drown himself in a constant state of intoxication. He did have a few moments there where he was a decent person, or at least trying to be. Maybe it's the same for yours. Who knows. Anyway, tea?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied. "Thank you with sugar." Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin. He thought of John's father why would anyone forgive him, he was a wretched person, and his daughter was taking after him so beautifully. Mycroft knew by inviting John he would be obligated to accompany his friend not wishing to leave John alone with Mycroft. He might try to make him disappear or worse offer him a job with the government. Sherlock shivered at the revolting thought. Good thing they wouldn't be going.

"You alright?" John asked "Are you cold?" The Doctor was placing a hot cup of tea near Sherlock.

"I'm fine." He mumbled.

Sherlock continued to consider this idea of his father. His father had a small room somewhere deep in the mind palace. Where there was no sun shining through the study windows, a fire offering no warmth burning in the hearth, the smell of cigars and scotch. That balding man would be sitting quietly a permanent frown on his rounded face staring into the fire. The walls would be shadowed nothing hanging on them. Sherlock only felt a chill when thinking of his father. Figures he would send Mycroft to order him home. Father's favorite son. Fat chance.


	56. TWO HOUSES

**CHAPTER 56. Two Houses**

The following day, Sherlock was attempting to catalog tobacco ash, when the good Doctor returned home and seemingly out of no where became a distraction.

"John?" Sherlock tried to think of a way to ask his friend what was wrong, these types of things were not his area of expertise. Normally he could rely on the Doctor to explain these situations, but seeing how it was the Doctor causing him this distracting confusion that option was out of the equation.

"Hmm?" John didn't look up from his chair near the fireplace. Sherlock had tried to deduce what the cause of John's sudden melancholy mood was. He worked today a short shift, he went upstairs to change cheerfully calling out. "I'll put the kettle on. I hope there's milk." Sherlock didn't look up from his microscope to answer. Then John clad in his comfortable brown jumper, predictable, started the process of making tea. He placed the warm mug down next to Sherlock who glared at it.

"When is the last time you ate?"

"Eating is dull John. I'm busy."

"Well as dull as eating is your body, or _transport_ as you say needs it. Can't drive a car without petrol." Sherlock continued to ignore his friend intent on what he was doing. John placed toast next to the tea. "Eat. Or I'll hide the microscope."

Sherlock sighed heavily taking a piece of the crust and making a show of putting it in his mouth. As if to say; _Satisfied?_

John opened his laptop and that was when the mood in the room seemed to shift as if a cloud was passing over the sun, the flat felt colder. Sherlock tried to ignore this change, and continued to exchange slides of tobacco ash only to break a slide, due to the distraction that was sitting near the fireplace causing him to look up from his work. John was unusually quiet.

What was the protocol for these types of things, was John ill? No he sounded fine coming in. Had Sherlock said something to upset him? Sherlock reran their greetings, no John was perfectly fine. Conclusion something on the laptop now firmly closed and sitting on the table.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you know there are over-"

"I think I'm going to go out for a walk." John said so suddenly the dark haired detective almost flinched. He waited at the window to see John disappear down the street before he moved to open the laptop, easy to break that password _getoffmylaptop_ wasn't really to hard to figure out.

_Johnny, I have a buyer for the house. I do need ur signature on 1 last thing. I ll b working this week. But Saturday I ll b at the house showing the potential buyers around. It wont take longer than a few minutes of ur time. If u could meet me at the house I'll be there all day until five. Then I will officially b out of ur life.-Harry_

Sherlock glared at her abysmal writing why must people use letters instead of spelling the whole word out. She was a coward for not calling. He could be grateful that at the very least she hadn't stopped in.

Sherlock shut the small laptop and carefully placed it exactly where he'd taken it from. Not even a moment later he received a text message alert,

_Well since John is going to visit his old home, perhaps the two of you will stop into the estate and stay the night. I'll be there myself. Organizing some of father's affairs.-MH_

"Piss off Mycroft." Sherlock snarled.

_I'm hoping you wont have that type of attitude when you visit father.-MH_

Sherlock went back to his microscope, he had told John and everyone else who inquired, that his father was dead, from cancer. Well in a way it was true. He was dead to him, and he did have cancer. He had no urge to revisit his old home. He hadn't gone back since departing ways with John.

**~0~**

"What's the matter father embarrassed your youngest son is a drug addict university drop out?" it was amazing how Sherlock managed to get this out without slurring. He swayed a bit, his glassy bloodshot eyes tried to focus on the red faced balding old man. Still standing six foot, and still an imposing bully, pompous git.

"Get him out of my face!" His father growled pointing angrily at his youngest son. He moved to straighten his gray suit jacket and adjust his blue silk tie. Mycroft handed the man his scotch in hopes of calming the situation.

"Sherlock, let's go." Mycroft firmly took hold of the younger Holmes's arm, in hopes of escorting him out of Father's study into a car and directly to another expensive rehab. His younger brother's equilibrium impaired, he nearly stumbled backwards.

"Leave me alone Mycroft! I'm not going!" The dark haired young man pulled his arm away violently straightening his black suit jacket in a similar way father had, without even noticing.

"Oh yes you are! You insolent-if you don't go Sherlock then I will cut you off, you wont be wasting the money of our good name on poison that you'll just shoot up your arm." Father had slammed his half empty tumbler of scotch onto his desk, moving to stand directly in front of his sons. The veins on his neck and temple pulsing.

"I don't need you! I never have!" Mycroft pulled the his younger brother away, distance was an advantage.

"I see your usual little shadow has gone. You finally managed to annoy him enough that not even our money could keep you friends?"

"Father, please you're not helping." Mycroft held the thinner Holmes by his waist, fearful if he squeezed anymore he'd break something, feeling the fine bones of his little brothers frame.

"It was me that told him to go." Sherlock calmed now pulling away from Mycroft's hold, putting distance between the two.

"I tolerated that penniless kid only to keep you happy, and from making a nuisance of things. He was an idiot for staying around this long. And you managed to finally drive him away, at least you saved me that embarrassment, people talk. Still what a shame that a drunk like Nathan Watson was blessed with a respectable child, decent, somewhat average but I would trade average in for one that is a spoiled insolent failure! You feel entitled to my money and you've done nothing to earn your inheritance other than waste your intelligence on drugs and-"

Sherlock sneered at his father "keep it. I can make my own way. I don't want anything from you, or you!" Sherlock pushed his brother away. "You're dead to me father."

"You've been dead to me for a long time." The older man spat. "Get out of my house you're not welcome here. You would break your mothers heart if she saw how you turned out!"

And Sherlock had left, and never turned back, he didn't need his fathers money true he had his mother's trust. Then Mycroft told him when he woke up in rehab that he'd seized the trust and he would be monitoring Sherlock's spending and habits. He had ultimatums and no matter how Sherlock pushed Mycroft refused to give. He checked out the next day and lived on the streets making his way for months until an overdose landed him once more at his brother's mercy. More ultimatums, more threats.

That was how he would remember his father angry and cold. Sherlock had no urge to reminisce on what was past, perhaps that's what John felt. Although seeing the look on father's face when he waltzed in for a visit with John Watson in tow. Doctor John Watson, Captain and still loyal friend. A commoner's son, oh it could be like Christmas. Still the coincidence that John was being called away to his old home wasn't lost on Sherlock.


	57. HOMECOMING

**CHAPTER 57. HOMECOMING**

John felt a chill run up his spine when the car pulled up to the drive of the Holmes estate. He almost expected a curly haired young boy to be running under the shade of the large oak trees just at the far end of the property. That boy would dash between the trees peeking out to see if the coast was clear, then he would signal from behind to a blond kid in a brown hoodie. The two would battle imaginary foes for buried treasure. A smile crossed his face, somewhere out there was a buried treasure. Long forgotten by a pirate king and his first mate.

The car came up to a halt, Sherlock grumbled as he climbed out. "When's the last time you've been home Sherlock?"

"Christmas of –no wait. Actually I haven't been home since UNI."

"Sherlock that's-"

"I know, but I hate this place John. And I hated what it represents. It's a piece of a long since dead era, archaic, hidden in the tall trees almost frozen in time. Father will more than likely leave the house to my brother Mycroft, knowing I would have this place torn down if I had my way." John shook his head.

"We had some good times here. It wasn't all bad." John reminded him.

"Leave your bags John it's the drivers job." Sherlock snapped climbing out of the car. John never got used to that part of visiting the Holmes estate, having people picking up after you it was always uncomfortable. He hurried after Sherlock was making unusually slow progress along the cobblestone path leading to the house, finally he came to an abrupt stop just half way there.

"I can't do it. It's going to be so boring in there, even this fresh country air is stifling." The tall dark haired man shoved his hands in the pockets of his beloved bellstaff coat.

"Oh, no you don't." John grabbed Sherlock by the arm marching him up the drive to the door, he knocked while Sherlock grumbled about John not recognizing personal space. The door opened the old butler looked at both men and John couldn't help but smile at his startled expression.

"Uh, I think I found something that belongs to you." John couldn't help it, he was feeling sentimental. Behind him he heard Sherlock start to grumble loudly.

"Unlikely." Royce stated hoarsely. The old butler had hardly aged, except his hair had grayed, but he hadn't lost his lean figure. Somehow John remembered him being taller.

"Move Royce, come along John. Might as well come in." The older man moved aside he watched the two young men stalk towards the stairs. For a moment he could see the men as the boys they once were, before shutting the heavy door.

John found that his bag had been neatly unpacked in the room that was a guest room adjoining another room. Surprisingly, Sherlock opted for the second room instead of visiting his old room. John wondered if it was because he probably had some lingering science experiments laying about, maybe stinking up the place.

"Mycroft said father is resting. I think he expects us to greet him after he wakes."

"Us?" John stiffened.

"Of course John. Us. You don't expect me to sit in my father's presence by myself. I can't wait to see his face when he sees that I'm still acquainted with a commoner. This is better than Christmas. Mycroft hasn't told the man that we've arrived just yet. Didn't want to break his fragile heart I suppose if I didn't show up. That would have been worth seeing his face- John what's wrong? "

"Sherlock that's not even close to funny." John gave the scolding look the you are saying inappropriate things look, the be nice to Molly look.

"John I wasn't joking. Why would I joke about something like that? Besides why are you so surprised?"

"I thought I was here for support. You know, of the moral kind. Of the sit out of the way kind. Of the enjoy the food and soft bed kind of support."

"And you said to quit joking."

Lunch was a bit more food than John was used to, but apparently Sylvie was so excited that she had people to cook for she didn't hold back. John noticed Mycroft was making an effort to steer clear of the cakes and scones. He sat quietly at the end of the table reading a paper, John sat at the opposite end of Mycroft with Sherlock on his left. A quick glance revealed the younger Holmes hadn't touched his lunch. John coughed holding back a laugh, it was all so familiar. Sherlock only continued to glare at John then his untouched plate of food, and Mycroft ruffled his paper.

"Sherlock, I think it's getting late you should allow your prisoner his relief." This broke the tension but not by much.

"He's right I should get going. Harry is probably wondering if I'm going to show at all."

"Alright John I'll go-"Sherlock started to push his chair back.

"Sherlock let John have some privacy." Mycroft scowled pointedly from over the day's newspaper.

"It's fine."

"It's settled John! Royce! The car!" John was nearly pulled out of his seat.

John and Sherlock traveled in silence something John barely acknowledged. The Doctor was busy watching the flash of scenery along the side of the road leading to town. He thought he saw a kid in a blue and white stripped shirt hauling behind him a dark haired six year old in a gray blazer and shorts.

Once they arrived, Royce opened the car door and John climbed out with Sherlock. "Take your time Doctor Watson." Royce gave a short nod.

"Sherlock can you please be civil to Harry? Or I'll make you wait in the car."

"I will make no promises John. However I shall try my best."

"Fair enough." John turned and opened the old gate, someone had painted maybe to make the house look more appealing. John saw a rental car parked by the old shed Harry was probably inside. Why did he feel sick standing here, like he was eight all over again? The creak of the steps the squeak of the door, he almost expected his father to be passed out on the raggedy blue sofa.

Sherlock observed the flash of emotions cross his friends face, anger, sadness, panic, and all over again. The doctor cleared his voice and called out

"Harry? You here?" No answer John didn't want to go any further.

Sherlock understood his friends hesitation, he found it difficult to go any further himself. The memory of his friend bruised and beaten left alone to deal with the damage, it was still fresh and he wished he could delete it. Maybe he should have Mycroft buy the house and let John burn it to the ground.

John slowly made his way up the stairs Sherlock shrugged and followed, the whole time he'd known the Doctor he'd never been in John's room. Curiously was pushing him forward. The hall was small and narrow just two bedrooms, John went to his door, the white paint had been touched up. Sherlock half expected to see a boy in grass stained jeans on his stomach playing with plastic soldiers, when the door opened. Instead the room was dim, looking around John's room it was as he imagined,a typical boy's room. There were old rugby posters still on the wall, a neatly made bed that looked as if someone had just sat in it, when in reality by the judge of the dust no one had been in there for years.

John frowned looking around. "Lets go she's probably out back."

They found harry sitting in the garden on an old wooden stool, John remembered his aunt used to sit and drink looking out over the field beyond the fence.

"The buyer backed out. Sorry you made the trip." Harry sighed.

Sherlock thought he saw something interesting around the side of the house and left the two alone.

"I was wrong Johnny." Harry didn't turn to look his way she continued to stare out across the yard over the fence and the fields beyond. "The kid I paid to paint the fence and mow the law. Found these. Among other things, I could make a killing on recycling the glass bottles." John's eyes fell on the keys, John took them from his sister. He had to laugh.

"I was wrong Johnny." She was wearing a blue skirt suit and white blouse. Her hair in a tight bun.

"You said that Harry."

"No. I was wrong. You were not him John, you didn't become him at all. I did." John pulled the turned over apple crate and he sat next to his sister, holding the keys in his hands.

"You weren't a coward John, I know you were scared but you never stood down. I remember the beating you got for tossing those keys out here."

"Great use it did he found another way to get the car going." Harry laughed. "So hows it going?"

"If your asking if I've been sober. Then the answer is yes." Her reply was sharp, John winced. Well that lasted for a minute.

"I'll see you around Harry." he started to stand up.

"You forgave him." again back to the casual tone.

"Sherlock and I had a falling out. He isnt the reason I joined the army I thought I could just run away from everything. And I don't regret my decision."

"Oh, I knew you forgave him the moment you told me you had a falling out. I mean _him_. Dad, you forgave him didn't you?"

"Yeah. I guess." John bit the inside of his cheek realizing he had.

"I was a coward John."

"You were a confused teenager. Who lost her mother and had a violent drunk for a father." John stated easily.

"Clara wanted children. And I told her no. Then I started drinking. I didn't want to tell her why. What if I was like him?"

"Harry. You are making the effort to stay sober. He always went to rehab and staid a day or was kicked out. You are trying. And I think we learn from our parents mistakes."

"That's why you don't drink? Why you told the nurses you didn't want pain killers at the hospital?"

"Yeah. I'm terrified I would would be like him, unable to say no."

"No, John you wont ever be like us. You are so much like mum. You never got to know her, but I had ten years with her." John had never heard Harry speak about their mother so he sat and listened.

"She always new what to say. I remember how fast she could calm father down, he had a temper even then, just not as bad. Grams once told me that mum could turn a thunder storm into a rain cloud. She was fearless always stood her ground. She always said; _Harry don't let people push you around there's a difference between nice and being walked on_." John tried to imagine the stranger he had one picture of, and it was her holding his hand at the park feeding ducks. "She loved you Johnny guess I was a bit jealous of that. I was an only child for ten years before you came along." she smiled sadly finely meeting his eyes, patting his knee she started to stand " Well I better get going. Clara invited me to Dinner tonight and it's a long drive."

"Clara?"

"Yes. Clara."

"You guys-"

"We are just talking for now."

"Harry I love you."

"I know Johnny. I love you too." She stood and ruffled his hair. "I still think your little buddy is a little twerp and a brat. But you have to admit they have been better to you than I have. So they can't be half bad. Honestly thought you would be bored with him after a while."

John walked towards the car where Royce and Sherlock were standing, Sherlock waved at Harry she flipped him off and peeled out of the drive way. John looked back at the old house, he could see himself dashing across the front yard his hoodie stretched at the neck he ran for the road a mile up a nice couple with a child asleep in his car seat picked him up and drop him off at the campus.

He sat in the back seat admiring the sleeping child, his rounded cheeks and dark hair. Lucky kid had parents that cared.

The couple had been so kind they gave him their information in case he was in any trouble. He almost forgot about the family, wondered what he did with that old card. What had the name been? Laundry? Lindstrom? That was it. And that was the last time he'd been home.

"Ready John?" Sherlock interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes. Yes I am." _Your turn._ John thought to himself.


	58. WHAT FATHER SAID

**CHAPTER 58. WHAT FATHER SAID**

John and Sherlock waited outside the bedroom doors, Holmes Senior was talking to Mycroft first. Sherlock rolled his eyes, of course he would need a few words with Lord, Do No Wrong.

"Behave." John nudged the taller man, Sherlock could never understand the uneasiness he felt around his father even now. John's elbow nudged him again, and some of the heaviness seemed to lift, as it usually did around his friend.

Sherlock wondered if John new he could do that, he had a way of pacifying the worst situations. Victims and even suspects responded to his polite calm demeanor, before he could continue to explore this thought the bedroom doors opened and a nurse ushered them inside.

John's eyes took in the room, it was set up like a hospital room, a plush hotel like hospital room. Mr. Holmes had no costs spared, the machines dispensing oxygen, the heart monitors, but there was no covering the smell of antiseptic and bleach. Familiar hospital scents, used in an attempt at disguising the unpleasant smells that accompany death and failing faculties.

He could see the cot was a nice queen size mattress converted into a hospital cot, but it was empty. Mycroft was standing near a tall blue wing backed chair next to the large windows, the light of the afternoon sun was streaming in.

A nurse stood off to the side checking the machines and adjusting the oxygen.

"Go on Mycroft you can go. I'm sure your friends are waiting. Be sure to check on your mother." Mycroft remained unmoved.

"Father, Sherlock has come to visit, Sherlock and John Watson." Sherlock moved stiffly towards the chair coming to stand opposite of Mycroft he looked down at the now feeble old man, thin and wheezing, he had an oxygen mask on over his skeletal face.

John wondered what it was Sherlock could see when he ran his eyes over his father.

John being a doctor read all the signs of the end nearing, and though he hardly spent much time in Holmes senior's presence he still found it difficult to see a once proud man reduced to a small skeleton draped in a blue silk robe and matching pajamas. An echo of his former self, even his height had gone, as his fragile bones started curling in on themselves.

"So I've come as you called." Sherlock grumbled. Mycroft shot him a dark look one he chose to ignore.

"Mycroft I thought you were bringing your brother in. Where is he?"

Sherlock frowned shooting a questioning look to Mycroft. "Ah, Lawrence have you come for a visit. You'll have to excuse me I wasn't expecting you." Sherlock tried to think of whom his father could be referring. The old spotted hands had pulled the oxygen mask down.

"That was mother's brother. You remember-no you wouldn't remember him he died when you were just one. I believe he was a pilot in the royal air force." Mycroft kept his voice low enough for John and Sherlock to hear.

"Your sister isn't in. I think she's gone on vacation." Father continued to speak in short gasps, Sherlock only rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Oh, this is ridiculous, she's was never on vacation. She was in the hospital, the mad house." Sherlock growled, "This is pointless." He growled turning to leave, Mycroft followed, the two moved to the hall to argue. John flashed a polite uncomfortable smile towards the nurse.

"Agnes." The old man called to the dark haired nurse in the white scrubs. "Agnes" he panted "Go bring my son to me. He's out in the garden. With that Watson boy again. Tell him I wish to speak to him." The old nurse only whispered to John.

"He has been getting disorientated more and more. Sometimes he calls me Agnes-" John smiled.

"That was Sherlock's poor nanny." John replied." Do you mind, I'm a Doctor, can I see his chart." The hospice nurse nodded.

"Oh, of course." She kneeled down. "Mr. Holmes I'm going to leave you in the company of Doctor Watson." John didn't think the old man could see him at first he kept staring out the window, his eyes glazed.

"They are at the library I believe. Pointless we have an excellent library. I buy the boy books all the time, but he'd rather go off and read used ones. It's just to spite me." John adjusted the man's oxygen mask. "I need to talk to him." The older man repeated, patting John's hand softly when he adjusted the older man's oxygen mask.

"You will, just calm down now, take a deep breath." John coaxed. The older man squinted and turned away. "You know her brother Lawrence went to war. The only family she had left. Sentiment. It broke her."

John wondered how much of this was true. The nurse finally handed him the chart after she ran another check on the monitors.

"Are you feeling any pain Mr. Holmes?" John asked gently. He was checking the numbers and thought maybe the pain medicine the Doctor was giving the dose was a little low for hospice patients he expected twice that.

"I hurt all over." The man murmured. "I'm so tired."

"Would you like to go back to bed Mr. Holmes?" The nurse asked gently.

"No. I wish to stay here in my study I like this chair it's comfortable." John heard the authoritative tone, that was the man he remembered.

"Only acquaintances." John continued to stand quietly with the older man, giving the brothers some privacy to sort it out. "Sherlock made one friend." John wondered what the older man saw when he looked on his sons with those empty sightless eyes. "John Watson. He is a good boy." John was caught off guard thinking he heard incorrectly. "It's a mistake to let Sherlock have friends. Sentiment-it clouds the judgment, blurs the goal. It's a chemical defect. Sherlock will be bored with that kid. It's almost unfair to let them continue. People aren't toys you know. Meant to be discarded." John looked at the nurse, she went to shut the bedroom door as the two brothers voices were growing louder by the minute.

"Doctor Watson I need to refill the ice chips would you-"

"Not at all, I'll stay here till you get back." The older man turned to look at John his eyes narrowing he pulled the mask from his face once more.

"So Nathan." John flinched, hearing his father's name. "I see you haven't heard a thing I said. I warned you. Royce here is going to escort you to the rehabilitation center where you will remain for the full 90 days. And if we have to have this conversation one more time, it wont just be jail and rehab you will have to worry about."

"What?" John turned to look at the man.

"Don't play dumb Watson, I'm not giving a cent. You even think of pressing charges on Royce here my lawyers will make a meal of you. I am sorry about the knee, I told Royce to break your wrist but seeing how he already has dislocated your shoulder, figured to switch it up a bit." John's eyes were wide, the old man was senile he had to be somehow confused, making this up. John tried to think, his father did have a limp wasn't that how he always was. How did he even know his father, as far as John could remember they never had met. Did father already walk with a limp before John had met Sherlock? John couldn't remember.

"He's a fragile boy, Sherlock. I can't have you upsetting him. It's an ill-advised friendship but I've been told your son's influence will rein my son in. So far I have seen improvement. Your little stunt in the park almost brought that down. Did you not understand after the last talk we had?"

"We had a talk?" John asked his mouth dry, and heart pounding. What the hell was this? No way it was real. Right?

"Father what are you going on about?" Mycroft asked moving to stand in front of his father's chair beside John. Sherlock stood on the other side.

"Yes, Royce called me all the way in Brussels. I came home just to have that conversation with you. I'm a busy man Mr. Watson." John wondered now, his father had gone away several times to rehabilitation centers far from home. John always assumed it was because his father couldn't afford one closer. Right?

"I better go, give you your privacy-" John started to move away from the old mans glare, his disturbing words and the identical expression of surprise the two Holmes brothers held.

"John?" the older man caught his wrist, John nearly jumped at the cold touch. The old man smiled thinly. "John, did Sherlock come with you? Are you home from University?" the older man grimaced, placeing a shaky hand to the oxygen mask, he seemed confused by it. He continued to look down at his hands as if he was searching for something.

"No, you boys are not in university any longer. John, Royce said you left to Afghanistan. When did you get back?" John wondered how Royce and Mr. Holmes knew his military record or anything about him had Mycroft said something he knew it wasn't Sherlock he already admitted to not coming home.

"No, that's not right. You were injured." The older Holmes didn't let John reply, his breathing more labored.

How did he know that, did Mycroft mention it, but why would he?

"You're a Doctor." The older man smiled as if he had just got a hard maths question right. "Yes, a Doctor and an army man. I can't see too well John. My eyes aren't the same. You know old age. You've not grown an inch." The older laughed at his own joke, the raspy laugh cut short by a hard cough racking his small frame. John placed the mask over the man's face.

"Yes well to be fair I am somewhat average height." John replied easily.

"You look well. I heard you were decorated. General Robinson told me a few years back you would make captain's rank. Your family should be proud." John thought of Harry the only family he had at this point, she hadn't been excited with anything to do with the army. The older Holmes patted Johns arm. "They don't deserve you. I told Royce that we should have just officially taken you on. I don't know why we didn't it was selfish to keep sending you back. Selfish. You know people would talk. You found your way back though." John didn't know how to reply, he only nodded. "Mycroft said you would be a Doctor said you knew, before secondary you were going to be a Doctor. He was right."

"Father." Mycroft interrupted now. "Father Sherlock has come for a visit." John's wrist was released he thanked Mycroft with a quick nod.

"Well bring him in." The old man snapped gruffly, coughing once more.

"John can I speak to you in the hall." Mycroft asked quickly, John shot a look at Sherlock who raised a hand as if to wave him off.

Mycroft took the medical chart and closed the door softly behind him.

Sherlock stood with his hands in his suit pocket he refused to feel. To feel anything. He did wish to sort out the truth from an old man's babbling nonsense. When did father meet John's father? Perhaps Royce would be a better person to speak with. Mycroft seemed surprised by it, could it be possible this was something not even the great and powerful British Government knew?

"Sherlock." His father rasped. "You came."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Yes well Mycroft does have his ways." Sherlock frowned no he was here because John's sister was selling a house. "Ever the diplomat and mediator." Sherlock sighed.

"If this is another session of how great Mycroft is then I'll gladly pass."

"No." his father snapped, breathing heavily, Sherlock could see this much talking was wearing the man down. "I wont say I'm sorry." He stated.

"Didn't think you would be."

John stood outside discussing the chart notes "That is just my opinion. I am just a-"

"No Doctor I trust your opinion wholly." Mycroft was pulling his phone out. "If you'll excuse me a moment."

"John." Sherlock pulled open the door to his fathers room, John could hear one of the alarms going off. The nurse had a look of concern.

John entered quickly, kneeling down next to the older man, who struggled for air.

"It's alright. Just a little worked up." John helped the nurse get the old man into his bed, adjusting the oxygen valves one more time, he glared at the pump dispensing the older man's pain medication.

"Maybe a rest then. Mr. Holmes you need to take it easy too much excitement for one day." The older man only nodded patting John's hands.

After the young doctor saw Mr. Holmes was comfortable he followed Sherlock out of the large master bedroom.

"If you're wondering dear brother, no I did not try to cut off his air supply. Although as much nonsense that he was spewing I should have."

"Always so overdramatic brother." John sensed the two were reaching a boiling point and even though he had questions he thought he better break it up. Send the boys to their prospective corners.

"Come on Sherlock, let's leave Mycroft to his phone calls we can go speak to Royce."

John took Sherlock's arm and the two started down the old corridor, Mycroft was calling the Doctor demanding to know why he left the Hospice nurse to care for father, Doctor Hull was after all being paid for 24 hour monitoring.

John almost felt bad for that doctor whomever he was.


	59. Spark

**CHAPTER 59. Spark**

John and Sherlock found Royce out giving instructions to the new Gardner.  John felt uncomfortable and awkward, but Sherlock being Sherlock was always straight to the point.

 “Mr. Lancstrom.” John winced hearing that tone, that was the, I will deduce your life and know everything so don’t try to lie to me it doesn’t work, tone. Usually used on suspects and questionable victims. The young Doctor had never heard Royce's last name. For some reason  the name turned and rolled around in his head, sounding familiar, although John was certain he'd never heard it before.

“Excuse me Solomon.” The middle age gardener nodded and returned to clearing out overgrown shrubs.

“Please, Master Sherlock call me Royce, it’s always been Royce.” The older man smiled gently. John looked at the man, really looked at him, he hadn’t ever really thought of Royce as more than the man who opened the doors and drove the Holmeses around. His eyes were hazel; there was a small scar that peeked out just below his hairline near his temple. One would almost think it a wrinkle from frowning or laughing, but a Doctor’s eye would know better.

Royce’s hands were scared at the knuckles and for a man in his 5o’s his shoulders were still straight, and he wore his hair cropped short. John tuned back into the conversation.

“How long have you worked for my father?”

“He hired me on about almost thirty five years now.” Royce replied easily his face still expressionless.

“You are not just the butler are you?” Sherlock knew the answer but he asked it anyway. Maybe to gage the reaction.

“I see you have been speaking to your father.”

“Answer the question.” Sherlock demanded. Royce just shrugged looking at both men. John wondered if he was seeing them for who they were or just two boys being called in for lunch.

“You already have the answers. Why would I waste my time.” Royce was side stepping the question, his eyes shot over to John, Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Come along John, Mycroft will be looking for us.” John wanted to protest but something in the way Sherlock was acting made him follow.

“What’s that all about, I thought we would-“

“Another time John. “ John ran a hand over his face, what an exhausting day, and it wasn’t even five yet.

Mycroft had some questions for John and Sherlock slipped off while John went over father’s charts. He pointed out where oxygen levels should be adjusted. Then moved on to suggesting a stronger painkiller. Mycroft listened with a thoughtful look, John in Doctor Mode was always impressive and every time the older Holmes was surprised by it.

The older Holmes could see that father wanted John to stay and sit a bit longer, the young Doctor agreed. Mycroft paused in the doorway momentarily, for a minute he could see a young blond boy in a cast sitting in Father's study. The boy would look uncomfortable as if searching for a means of escape, and father would only be sitting at his desk, running a sharp eye over the young man.

**_~0~_ **

**_  
_** "So young man, my eldest son tells me you are attending school with my son. How very convenient." The older Holmes eyed the young boy in the blue and white stripped t-shirt.  He took in the sight of the boy's arm in a cast, someone had drawn a pirate ship around the wrist area. He could see the boy was absolutely terrified to be in his presence but refused to show it.

"Yes sir. I won a scholarship." John replied politely. Mr. Holmes liked manners, manners were very important not too many children these days had them. Sherlock was a prime example.

"I see. And I also have noted you've spent quite a bit of time here at the house."

"Yes, yes sir." John nervously bit his lip. 

"John, my youngest son is a bit of a handful. How is it you can get along with him, when not even the people I pay to watch him, can?" The younger boy avoided a shrug knowing from experience with his own father it wasn't an acceptable answer.

"Sherlock's alright sir. He's just a bit different-"

"A bit? The boy's a little sociopath-"

"He's a bit different sir." John cut the man off, defending his friend. "He means well, it's just his mind goes so fast it takes a minute for common sense to catch up."

"That's where you come in isn't John? You are that conscience that the boy so easily ignores. A bit hard to ignore you though isn't it?"

"It's not like that at all sir. He-uh Sherlock is brilliant. He just looks at things different. And sometimes he does get a little a head of himself. But he always means well and never means to hurt anyone intentionally. "

"I think you will find you are the only one of this opinion." Holmes Senior stated coolly. "I've been wanting to meet with you for some time Mr. Watson." John held his caste arm to his chest. "I wanted to see if you were respectable enough of a young man to be allowed further acquaintance with my boy." John held his breath. "For now I will allow you two to stay friends." there was a pause "How is your arm? Mycroft tells me you fell from your bike?"

"Yes,sir. I did. I'm alright thank you. I should be going. I promised Sherlock I'd help him-"

"Right, right. Mr. Watson don't get too comfortable. Sherlock is easily bored with his toys. " John didn't reply he only nervously took his leave. He passed Mycroft in the door way. 

"Father did you think that was necessary?" Mycroft poured his father a glass of scotch.

"That boy is easy to read Mycroft. I don't see what your brother finds so interesting about him. He's just so average and common."

"That may be true father, but Sherlock seems to enjoy John's company." 

"Almost doesn't seem fair poor little bastard. He'll be just another broken chemistry set. An experiment that lasted a short attention span. It's almost cruel."

"I don't think Sherlock will see it that way. John either." Mycroft sighed heavily sitting in the chair John had just vacated.

The older Holmes shook his head, standing at the window. He watched as two young boys were running through the garden. His youngest son was laughing, his head thrown back and eyes lit up. Even more surprising was the fact that the Watson boy had his cast arm thrown over Sherlock's shoulder and his other hand was ruffling the boys hair. For a minute the older Holmes could see his son acting as most children would, and it was terrifying as well as enjoyable. He looked so much like his mother it hurt.

And that Watson boy did genuinely care to be in Sherlock's company, there was no deception in the boy. Yes, that boy would be a suitable friend for Sherlock, and perhaps someday Sherlock will realize exactly how lucky he is to have such a loyal friend. Such people were few and far between, he had yet to meet another in his life time. He had no need for such things as friends, but he could see the use of one. 

"Mycroft will call Royce for me?"

"Yes father." Mycroft hurried out of the study and Holmes senior continued to watch his son and the blonde boy  weaving in an out of the trees, playing some game of tag.

"Sir you called." Royce shut the door to the study.

"Yes. Royce. I wanted an update."

"Nathan Watson went straight to the rehab clinic after we spoke with him. The boy's aunt has agreed to stay on until the man is clean."

"Good, good. You know Royce. A man should be proud to have such a son. Average sure, completely ordinary but respectable and some what intelligent. Maybe Sherlock will have some influence on the boy and he wont wear his heart out for the world to see. Sentiment is an emotion that the lower classes breed into their children. Makes them breakable."

"I can't agree with that sir. I think sentiment gives us something to fight for and live for."

"You are a sentimental fool Royce."

"Yes sir. I should say so. Perhaps sir you will change your mind." Royce sighed his eyes following the two boys just outside disappearing behind the garden wall.

"Not likely Royce not likely."

**_~0~  
_ **

 Sherlock found Royce near the garage he was washing the car.

“So you lost your little shadow?” Sherlock scowled at the older man.

“John is not my _little shadow_. He’s an associate and a friend.” Royce shrugged again, he applied more soapy water to hood of one of the black cars.


	60. WHAT THE BUTLER SAID

**CHAPTER 60. WHAT THE BUTLER SAID**

“Keeps me young, keeping a shine on the cars.” He sighed feeling the younger Holmes’s dark look.

“Go on. What do you want to know?”

“My father was talking to me. Some of it made no sense at all.”

“Oh, you want me to confirm your suspicions. Oh, sorry _deductions?_ You have always been that way. Always needing to know if you were right, it wasn’t enough that you were, nope someone just had to confirm it. No one else could solve the problem for you, you had to do it on your own. Alright, you asked. So I’ll answer. I wasn’t just the butler and driver. Your father was a businessman; he dealt with other businessmen some unsavory others a bit dishonest. I accompanied him when he expected retaliation of some kind, for buy outs or other negotiations.”

“Other negotiations?”

“Does it matter Sherlock? The man will be laid to rest and so will his secrets.”

“Alright. Father mentioned having a talk with John’s father.”

“Oh, here it is. The one question that is nagging the back of your mind.”

“If you are asking if I had anything to do with the cut breaks, I didn’t. He hired out of town help on that. Imagine his irritation when he finds out, despite all the trouble he went through that you and Mycroft managed to change your minds about John. He broke his oldest bottle of scotch against the fireplace. All that planning and you and Mycroft go and turn your backs on the younger man.

At that point your father thought you both to be spoiled and he was done trying to help either of you.

You do know that kid, had no idea. When he came around you were entertained and your poor mother was a little less stressed. Mycroft could concentrate on climbing his social ladders or whatever he does.  Honestly your father thought you’d lose interest a lot sooner. Your father isn’t as stupid as you and Mycroft think. He knew about your little friend before Mycroft approached him about setting up a scholarship program.” Sherlock winced.

“Oh yeah. I’m sure you realize by now. He didn’t know everyone knew about that scholarship, except you and John. Even your mother knew.”

“Mycroft knew?” Sherlock cringed, his brother hadn’t corrected him. He’d yelled at John pushed his only friend away. Because he thought he accepted the money for school as compensation. That their friendship was just a cold business deal. A way for a poor kid to climb out of the dark hole that was his life. Even now Sherlock had put it away from him, he hadn’t found the courage to ask John to clarify.

“Of course Mycroft knew. Your father let him think it was his idea.”

“Why?”

“You ever wonder why you were your mother’s favorite?” Sherlock didn’t answer.

“You look exactly like her brother. He died when you were about one. His plane was shot down. They never gave us the specifics. However I bet Mycroft could always find out. The older you became the more you reminded her of her only brother. I think your father treated you badly for it. He did try to make up for it. Remember that puppy you found and brought home?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, father said I couldn’t keep it, he had Amelia take it and have it destroyed.”

“It was sick. Sherlock you were too young to know. It would have died. Still you cried for days. He thought it was best. He’s always been a hard man but he’s far from heartless. He thought of John at first like that damn dog. I think we all did. He wasn’t, was he? He was a perfect solution.

Mycroft didn’t have time to spend with you and you ran every nanny out. So logical conclusion was to let this friendship ride out. John kept you entertained. You were already two years ahead of your age group in school. The prospect of you making any other friends were slim. You did like to alienate people. Your father thought of it as business at first.” Royce frowned dumping clean water over the soapy hood.

“Then it became clearer that he was more like a brother you never had. Your mother was a sick woman, you were too small to understand even with your big brain. Your father knew you would need someone, and Mycroft had his own life. You never connected with anyone, other than this kid, for some reason. So he had a background check run on the family, of course Mycroft thought he was the first one to do so. Your father asked me what I thought of the boy. I told him it wasn’t a good idea. People aren’t toys to be used as entertainment and then forgotten when one became bored.”

Royce thought of his first meeting of the boy, his ripped shirt and grass stained jeans.

“He didn’t agree. It wasn’t until that first time-“ Royce started to towel dry the car, Sherlock hadn’t even realized the man had already started to wax the car.  He was a million miles away.

 

 “Do you remember. You were tearing through the house, terrorizing the new house staff, you even decided to run and experiment involving your great great great grandmothers favorite drapes hanging in the upstairs library.  Then Mycroft returned with John in tow, looking bruised and defeated.” Sherlock didn’t like to remember these things. It had been difficult to understand at that age the emotions he felt when John showed up with a bruised face and the shoe print on the center of his back. The tread was so perfectly outlined in a deep purple.

 

“I looked into it. The kid’s father was in jail. Your father sent me down to have a talk, brought the private solicitor. The deal he made with the courts was that Nathan went to rehab for 60 days and attended anger management.”

“Why not just let John be taken into custody?” Sherlock’s mouth was dry.

“Oh, yes great idea. Why hadn’t we thought of that. Because Sherlock, he would be sent to one of those boy’s homes? Like Haven House, yeah they really turned out some winners. He wouldn’t have lasted long. This was easier. His father went and John’s aunt came to stay. That had been fun; you know that woman wanted a monthly stipend, as incentive. She was ridiculous. Then Nathan returned and that witch left to London to her Sherry and her cats. It seemed pretty quiet. Then I dropped your friend off at the hospital remember how Nathan just walked right in, he ignored us. I dropped you and Mycroft off and headed out to have a chat. The bastard wasn’t home, I waited I could see John shoveling the driveway he looked fine. So I left.” Royce shook his head.

“A mistake. A mistake that haunts me.”

“It wasn’t your fault that John’s father was-“

Royce shook his head, waving off the justification. “ I had a talk with him that night. Dropped him off at rehab in the city, picked up the boy’s aunt. Reminded her of the deal. You have to understand your father was busy dealing with your mother’s failed suicides, your rambunctious ways and his business obligations. He told me to handle the problem. I did. Then he agreed to give in to Mycroft’s idea. It worked beautifully. Your professors adored John and the progress you were making we both thought it was all going to be alright. Then the park-“ Royce clinched his jaw. Sherlock recalled that day, it sent a cold shiver up his spine.

“I remember. When you kicked John’s father, you said something to him, what was it?”

“This isn’t over. We’ll talk later.” Royce’s lip curled, and the younger Holmes heard the icy warning.

“And you did.”

“Yes, and your father flew all the way back from Brussels for that chat.”

“Why? Why would father care?” Royce shrugged

“Maybe he cared or maybe he just didn’t like the fact that man did not heed his warning. I may have gone a little overboard, shattered his knee.”

“He had it coming.” Sherlock nodded.

“The final straw was University.” Royce tossed his rags into the now empty bucket near the clean tires. “John returned home just as you did, except you didn’t stay more than a few hours. I don’t know what their argument was over. I received a call from my brother and his young wife, they’d come to visit for the week, before he was deployed. They said they’d picked up a young hitchhiker and dropped him off at campus. I scolded them on picking up strangers. But then Mycroft received your text and I knew just who they picked up. So I informed your father, and Mycroft took care of the town police.” Royce smiled with a distant look in his eyes.

“You should have seen the bastard. Nathan looked worse for wear, clearly John had finally fought back. Son of a bitch deserved worse.” Sherlock only nodded in agreement.

“Mycroft had the solicitor pacify the police. After the donations your father made over the years to the library and the public pool they were happy to oblige. I asked your father if he wanted me to go down to the clink have a chat. He said no. Not to worry about he would take care of it. He knew about your drug use, the fact that John talked to Mycroft. No one knew what to do, your father was so angry when your mother died. Mycroft sank into his work, you just drifted further away. It was important someone was there.

Of course it was convenient that the young man was a doctor.” Royce leaned against the expensive black car. “When I heard about the car accident. I knew that it had been arranged. It was the only way, that man was so broken. And he was so hell bent on breaking John. I would have done it, I’d of gladly disappeared the man or cut those breaks. But it wasn’t me. You wouldn’t know it but your father thought of John as a third son.”  
”The son he always wanted.” Sherlock mused.   
”No, he loved you and Mycroft. He just didn’t know how to show it. He tried to talk sense into you, but you wouldn’t hear it. I remember he hoped your falling out would be mended. But it wasn’t was it? Then he found out about his cancer. So naturally he grew distant. He thought it better to cut ties at that point. He was going to give you time to clean up, to straighten out. He thought it best that your habits not destroy more lives. Some time later a year maybe two, and I received a phone call from my brother in the army around that time. Imagine my surprise when Tyler was telling me about this mad young doctor that pulled him free from a humvee’s wreckage. He said he hardly recognized the young man, but the way he spoke. It was the hitchhiker they’d dropped off at the university. He was sure of it.  Your father didn’t want to believe it. So he called his military contacts. Imagine our surprise.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? If I had known.” Sherlock’s brow wrinkled

“You’re a smart man Sherlock, I’m sure you already deduced that answer.”

“I want to hear you say it.” Sherlock replied coolly.

“He thought Doctor Watson should be free of the burden we placed on him. All the manipulation, the bribes and lying. He said to me that John didn’t deserved to be treated like a toy, to be thrown aside and forgotten. He had hoped you would come to your senses.”

“Why didn’t he try and have John stationed-“

“Oh, yes. Unlike you and Mycroft. Your father understood John perhaps better than you and Mycroft. John is a man of integrity, he likes to make his own way. Who are you to decide John’s decisions shouldn’t be respected? After all the meddling we did-no your father only kept tabs on him. He decided we’d done enough damage.” Royce crossed his arms over his chest, his face pinched. “ When General Robinson called to let us know the Doctor had been injured and was at the Queens Hospital your father was too ill to travel. And his mind was deteriorating. When we heard that Mycroft had gone we knew you would follow. Your father doesn’t have much time Sherlock. Couldn’t you find it in you to forgive the man? He only did what he thought was right for you.”

“He was a fool.” Sherlock snapped.

“Yes. He was. And you of all people should know the mistakes fools are capable of.”

“I’m not my father.”  Sherlock left the garage wanting to find John, to tell him all he learned. He heard Mycroft and John talking in the library, Sherlock decided to wait. Instead he went to father’s room.


	61. CONFESSIONS

CHAPTER 61. CONFESSIONS

Sherlock didn't knock when he entered father's room; the nurse was adjusting one of the machines. The sound of beeping and pinging was almost distracting, almost.

"My son. Agnes go bring me my son. Tell him his father wishes a word." The nurse looked down sadly on the older Mr. Holmes then back at Sherlock, the youngest son waved her away dismissively.

"Father. I am no child to have some nurse fetch from the gardens." Sherlock had meant for his voice to sound biting and harsh but instead it was unsteady and hushed.

The old eyes so much like Mycroft's swiveled over to hold Sherlock frozen in his place. A weathered hand slowly reached for the younger Holmes, and Sherlock refused to move any closer. He was already at his father's bedside what more did the man want? Sherlock wasn't one for touching they weren't that kind of a family.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen." Sherlock murmured coolly, he flinched slightly when a cold bony hand found his wrist.

"You can judge me son. It's how I raised you. I wont apologize." The older man wheezed.

"What is it father? Why do you want to see me so badly? It's actually quite irksome." Sherlock didn't try to pull his arm away, instead he studied the paper thin skin.

"It wasn't your fault. She was broken long before you were born." The older voice was gravelly now and breathing shallow. "Your mother was a beautiful woman, but fragile. Her brother was my only real friend-next to Royce. I see that now. Royce is a loyal employee and friend. Don't be cross with him. He did what I asked. We thought it was for good."

"You manipulated John's life. I don't think he would agree with you."

"Did we? Or did we give a boy an opportunity?"

"Opportunity? Father you essentially bought me a friend! This whole time-"

"No." the old man growled squeezing Sherlock's wrist. "No. I tried to think of it as a business deal but it wasn't that in the end. He's one of us, isn't he?" The gray eyes misted over, and there was another attempt at a deep breath, halted by a fit of coughing. Still the hand didn't leave Sherlock's wrist, "He is like another son. He was family because Mycroft and I couldn't-or didn't know how to be."

"What do you want father?"

"I want to know you understand. I have to know I was right. I need to hear you say it." Sherlock flinched hearing his own words fall from his father's mouth.

"Why? So your conscious can be appeased? Tell me father who was it that cut Nathan Watson's breaks?"

"He had to die Sherlock; the man was going to ruin everything. You saw what he was capable of. Are you aware of the damage before you two crossed paths? I read the medical reports from Doctor Bales, I saw the pictures. I am a business man Sherlock. I was raised just as you and Mycroft have been. We are cold creatures of logic, but not of violence. Not like that. I know it's hard to believe.

It was just- Lawrence, your mother's brother. Lawrence, you look so much like him. But he was more like John. He and I went to school together and we were going to go into business. I had a plan he would be my partner, we would dominate the business world. Control whole financial markets, but instead he went off to war as a pilot.

He promised to return. He was easy going and happy. He made me forget my father's ideas about friends and sentiment. Then he died. He was gone.

There was no chance at goodbye or final words of gratitude. He was all I knew as a friend. I never understood his drive to join the royal air force. He was like that, he saw he could be useful. I told him he was a damn fool. I tried to convince him otherwise. Then I tried to pull strings to have him grounded and assigned somewhere far from enemy lines. He knew some how. He knew, and refused it. He refused anything he didn't earn. We argued again, and that was the last I saw of him. I told my only friend that I hated him, and thought him a sentimental fool. I had no time or patience for such things. I told him he slowed me down with his ethics, and his way of thinking. That he would end up dead, because of all the sentiment he allowed cloud his vision, that such things were defects of the losing side."

Sherlock winced hearing his own words to John, but he let his father go on with his confession.

"He died. They didn't even have a body for the coffin. I had someone commissioned to find him, but the damn Royal Air force locked the files away as top secret. I had to know. Wouldn't you?" And Sherlock only nodded, yes, he too would not have rested until he knew the truth if it were John. His father smiled sadly and continued on in a remarkably steadier tone.

"The official story was his plane went down over the Balkans, and he died on impact. So I laid my friends memory to rest and swore off that part of me he affected. Then, here you were running around the gardens with this insignificant kid. One with the same grin on his face as Lawrence, the same stiff upper lip, no matter how much he was knocked around he remained unmoved. It was your chance. How could I not want that for you? I remembered having it for myself. I tried to toughen you up Son. I did. I wanted you prepared for the cold of the world, but this-this common unimportant child with his blue eyes and easy grin. This kid kept that part of you warm. He was unfazed by your eccentricities. Suddenly you were so manageable."

"Sentiment? I hardly believe you capable-" Sherlock scowled.

"I know. I was just as thrown. I wanted to believe I was doing it for selfish reasons. But it felt like a second chance. Then you and Mycroft do exactly as I had. Why was I surprised? You two were so much like I was. So ready to believe the worst in people to place blame so readily on anyone but yourselves. I knew then it was best to let him go. I could have secured his scholarships; I could have had him moved to a prestigious hospital. But he had already joined the army, do you know the kind of wounds that opened?" Another labored breath.

"However I refused to make the same mistakes. I let him be; he was climbing up and proving himself. Just as recklessly as Lawrence. I wont lie, I had hoped Mycroft's interference would have convinced the boy to take a safer commission, but I knew it was no use. And it wasn't. Then I heard he was killed. Just as quickly I learned he was alive. When Royce told me you and Mycroft had gone to the hospital, I thought you would have the second chance I never had. And you did. " Sherlock didn't know what to say at this point.

"Father-"

"You did." His father nodded his head so sure that this was the correct answer.

"We are all broken Sherlock. All of us, but sometimes we find that person to put us back together and remind us we are still flesh and bone. As illogical as it sounds. I was jealous of this chance you were presented with." The older man released his son's wrist. His body relaxing, his eyes started to mist once more, "I cut the breaks." He smiled with his blue lips, "I cut them and I'd do it again. I cut his breaks and I called him for a quick meeting said I would give him money if he met me out on that road. Then it was all too easy to run him off the road. All too easy. And everyone thought I was away on business. Clever me."

Sherlock for a moment almost didn't recognize the man as his father, the gray eyes found his, "What would you have done? If you knew your friend was going to die? What would you have done?"

Sherlock didn't hesitate, he put the oxygen mask over his fathers face, "I would have done more than cut his breaks." His father patted his sons hand and nodded.

**_~0~_ **

John found Sherlock leaving the older Holmes' room, "He's resting." The Doctor nodded.

"Good." Then John studied his friends face. "You alright Sherlock? Want to-"

"Fine. John. I'm just fine. Have you eaten?"

The young Doctor shook his head. "I was actually going to speak to Royce."

"John, my father is old and senile. You understand how the brain deteriorates. I 've spoken to Royce and he only confirmed what I already deduced. My father has lost his mind and is a rambling confused old man." John frowned and to no surprise the Doctor didn't continue to question his friend.

"Yeah. Well. Have you eaten?" Sherlock made a face. "I'll take that as a no." John sighed disapprovingly "Well, I'm going to adjust your father's medication levels. I don't know what kind of quack Mycroft hired but the man knows nothing about hospice. Then we are getting something to eat."

Sherlock didn't argue, he only decided to remain outside his father's room. He could hear John's muffled voice through the door, it was comforting and warm. Sherlock wondered if his father understood it. If he were still lucid to recognize John as a Doctor, as someone he knew. The consulting detective shuttered at thought of being locked in his own brain, confused and lost. To lose one's mind would be the worst hell imaginable.

"Take care of him John. You know he gets up to trouble on his own." John nodded replacing the oxygen mask the older Holmes insisted on removing.

"Of course sir."

"John. A father should be proud of his son's accomplishments." John frowned briefly then quickly offered a tight smile.

"Rest now sir."

"Goodbye Lawrence." The older man wheezed and John allowed the older man to continue patting his hand until, the older Holmes finally fell into a deep medicated sleep.

 

 


	62. the FAMILY WE MAKE

**CHAPTER 62. THE FAMILY WE MAKE**

John and Sherlock were happy to return to the chaos of London, the weekend had taken a lot out of the two, and had extended into a week longer than planned. On the fifth day, at midnight, while Mycroft sat and read the business section of the paper, the elder Holmes had passed.

The funeral was quiet, as per the dying man's last wish. He only wanted to be buried quietly beside his wife and brother in law. The man wished to avoid the throng of false mourners, and extended family seeking fortune.

John had stayed close to his friend, although on the outside Sherlock showed no sign of grieving. The good Doctor knew differently, he'd known his friend long enough and well enough to identify the signs of loss.

Mycroft however was harder to read, he had spent a lengthy amount of time keeping the older man company. Sherlock showed no interest in knowing what the two could have been discussing.

**_~0~_ **

The oldest Holmes brother had listened to Sherlock's explanation of the twisted events surrounding the death of Nathan Watson. He also knew that Sherlock hadn't spoken to John about any of this disturbing news. Mycroft's first reaction was disbelief, naturally he had the police reports and the pictures brought to him in a neatly compiled file. His PA was really quite thorough.

It took just a few minutes of his skilled eye to confirm the worst about his father. The older Holmes was a murderer, and he wasn't even an apologetic one. Sherlock seemed to agree with this method, and Mycroft found himself unable to decide how he truly felt.

As a distraction Mycroft used his power and status as a minor employee of the British Government to have a certain top secret file pulled. One that was nearly thirty years old. He quickly read through the confidential report, scanning the picture of a man he hardly had known.

It was startling the resemblance of Uncle Lawrence to Sherlock. It wasn't a wonder how father had been confused by Sherlock's sudden appearance. However there was something different about the young officer in his flight uniform. Uncle Lawrence was leaning against the side of his plane a smile playing across his lips, and an arm thrown over two other pilot's shoulders. Mycroft wondered if that was what Sherlock would have looked like had he been more of a free spirit.

The British Government tried to recall his uncle, and all he could remember were long arms reaching to pick him up or embrace him. Surprising, considering they weren't that kind of family. He remembered how mummy lit up when her brother was around. Somewhere buried deep in his memory the older Holmes could even remember his father's easy laughter.

Then he recalled the funeral and how the light had gone out of the house. Father left on longer business trips, he hadn't even attended the funeral.

_"_ _It's an empty coffin, why would I waste my time."_ Mycroft recalled his father's cold words to a distraught Mummy.

Flipping through the highly detailed documents, the witness statements and finally the photographs. Mycroft shook his head sadly, the old government had covered this up because it was their mistake. One they would have happily kept buried, until now.

Mycroft looked over some of the happier photographs his mother had locked away in albums. Old family albums that now had grown dusty and fragile in their years of abandonment.

Uncle Lawrence always wore a smile, or a polite grin. He had a very familiar expression on his face when standing next to a younger version of father. That grin Mycroft knew very well, after all, he'd seen it countless times over the years and even recently.

"Sherlock I said eat."

"John you are not my nurse maid."

"Thank god for that! If I were I'd of hung myself in frustration by now. Don't give me that look. You have no reason to put this off. I already warned you. There is no case to slow your brain down, and it's been two days. So, either you go have a bit of toast or I hold you down and make you eat a ham sandwich. Your choice."

Mycroft had looked up from father's desk, not surprised to see his brother shaking his head and the exasperated grin from the blond two argued as they passed the study's open door. This caused Mycroft to come to a decision.

The British Government gathered the confidential file and went to sit with father. The man had been nothing but cold and harsh in his latter years but Mycroft would offer him this one piece of information. Perhaps it would allow the man some rest. He also had the grave of an unknown soldier exhumed and placed in his proper place. Technology was amazing these days how quickly the body was identified through DNA.

"Father I have something to tell you. I need you to try and concentrate."

"What is it my boy? What trouble has your brother gotten up to?"

"Father, it's not Sherlock, it's about Uncle Lawrence." The old man didn't speak again, and Mycroft wasn't sure how much his father actually understood. Mycroft watched father's expressionless face as the old man listened to how his brother in law and friend had died a hero and had finally come home. Mycroft assured the elder Holmes that Uncle Lawrence was now buried in the family plot where he belonged.

Not wishing to leave father's side just yet, Mycroft decided to read the business section of the days paper. Only to keep himself busy, and maybe to help ease what was left of his father. It wasn't too long after father slipped into a deep sleep and ceased to breathe.

Their wasn't grief in the end just a sense of relief, the end of the confusion for a man who once had been bigger than life and sharp as a knife.

**_~0~_ **

Soon after their return to London they were off and running once more, this time after a mad bomber. The first victim had been a young mother leaving a Tesco. The second victim an elderly woman, unfortunately the elderly woman hadn't made it. All the while Sherlock thought it a great game, a mystery starting out with a pink phone and somehow having to do with a dead boy's trainers.

"This isn't a game Sherlock! People are being hurt. Can't you-"

"John, sentiment is not going to help any of these victims past present or future, I suggest you get this through your head."

John had an expression that Sherlock had seen many times in Mycroft, but it angered him to see it in John. John was supposed to understand, supposed to be on his side.

"I've disappointed you?"

"Yes. That's a great deduction."

"John, don't make the mistake of believing in heroes they don't exist and if they did I certainly am not one of them."

**_~0~_ **

Officer Kelly was standing next to John and Sherlock when the call about the painting came in. The young boys voice speaking was all too familiar and John felt his stomach turn, officer Kelly however had made a grab for the mobile. Sherlock was way too quick for it.

"Don't say anything!" Sherlock ordered the young boy. "Just do as the man instructs, tell me what he says word for word." Matt's voice was hauntingly calm as he spoke, but John could hear the fear in the way his breathing had sped up, and his careful pauses between words.

Sherlock was studying the painting, the curator still in complete denial. Suddenly to Sherlock's and John's shocked surprise officer Kelly drew his firearm, pointing it directly at the lying witch.

"Tell him why it's a fake! Tell him!" he growled "I swear I'll shoot you right here!"

"Now, calm down Tim." John tried to near the officer, all the while Sherlock was ignoring this trying to stick with the picture's details, something was off. He was missing it and it was in front of his face.

"Ten-" the countdown started "eight"

"Tell him!" Kelly was yelling nearing the woman with the thick accent, the hand gun wasn't shaking, and John knew this wasn't going to end well.

"Officer!" John was trying to put himself in between the distraught father and the paintings benefactor.

"Do shut up!" Sherlock shouted "I can't think!" then it came to him and he shouted into the phone. Everyone fell silent and the boys unsteady voice cut through the dead silence.

"Dad?"

Officer Kelly slowly lowered his weapon, and he took the phone from Sherlock "Mattie? Where are you son?"

"It's dark here-" Sherlock and John looked at each other.

"Mattie, look around tell me what you see, is there a door?"

"He said if I move I'll blow up." Matthew's voice was hoarse.

"It's okay Mattie, it's okay son. I'm coming to get you. Just try to tell me if there was anything, a smell or sounds.

"I hear a humming noise. And it kind of smells like chocolate. And when he blindfolded me I could hear a train." Sherlock had his mobile out his hands flying over the screen. He spouted out the address and John called Lestrade but Officer Kelly was already gone.

By the time John and Sherlock arrived Timothy Kelly was sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance holding a very pale Mathew in his lap. The boy looked so much younger wrapped in an orange shock blanket. Tears streaked his dirty face, and John felt a sudden flare of anger.

"He didn't get a good look at anyone, just remembered walking home from school and someone coming up from behind. Poor kid he's pretty shaken." Lestrade ran a hand over his tired face.

"Understandable." John nodded, watching as Mathew's mother just arrived with what looked like his grandmother and grandfather and few aunts and uncles. John could tell they all were Gloria's relatives due to the red hair and green eyes. He made his way to the ambulance leaving Sherlock and Lestrade to discuss the mad bomber's next move.

Sherlock watched as John put a hand on officer Kelly's shoulder, the man was visibly shaken. The consulting detective didn't mention the fact that the officer had nearly shot a suspect, nor did John. This was the most primal of instincts, a parents drive to protect one's offspring. Natures way to ensure the survival of the species. Perhaps it was necessary in the most prehistoric times but now Sherlock wondered over the necessity. The idea that officer Kelly would have done time in prison for murder just so a non blood related child that he had adopted wouldn't parish.

The strength of emotion confused Sherlock, and as the family gathered around the small boy, he scrutinized their faces from afar, and felt as if he missed something important.

"Hey, genius, Mycroft just texted me, he wants that memory stick."

"Fine, I know exactly where to find it. Come along John." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Lestrade, you may want to give the child's father the day off, and be sure to prosecute the woman with accomplice to kidnapping, terrorism and fraud."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it all. You'll come in later for a statement." It was a statement but John thought it might as well be a question. Sherlock only turned and sauntered away, John shot the DI a sympathetic look and then a quick nod to the officer who caught his eye. Kelly nodded in reply, the officer tightened his hold around the young boy tucked under his chin.


	63. game on

**CHAPTER 63. GAME ON**

Sherlock tried to iron out the day's events, Lestrade refused to take officer Kelly's statement until he went home with his family. The woman who had hired Moriarty to fake the painting was now in custody willing to cooperate, she said nothing about having a gun held to her head.

It was such an odd turn of dealings, and now John would be heading to Sarah's. _Boring._

It was best though, Sherlock had a score to settle and he planned on meeting his proclaimed nemesis and wannabe equal, face to face.

John believed Sherlock had given the memory stick to Mycroft, silly John. Always so trusting, had he really observed Sherlock's body language he'd of guessed right away it was lie. However John wasn't looking for lies, he didn't doubt or question Sherlock. Now if the consulting detective had said he'd eaten today then it would be an entirely different scenario. Really John was such a simple and complex creature. _Predictable._

**_~0~_ **

"Ooh, Sebby you've caught me a little soldier boy. Ah, he's all wrapped up in explosives. You shouldn't have." Sebastian fought the urge to roll his eyes, Jim's voice was light and excited. He was clapping his hands happily and nearly jumping for joy.

"It wasn't difficult. Really it was too easy. I expected a fight but he hardly put one up." Sebastian accepted the red silk handkerchief from Jim to wipe the dried blood from his nose. He tried not to walk too stiffly, however Jim knew right away that Sebastian wasn't exactly telling the whole truth.

Sebastian hauled the unconscious Doctor into the dimly lit locker room. This place, the smell of chlorine, it was all too familiar.

That Carl Powers had thought he found his way out just like this little bastard. Sebastian resisted the sudden temptation to kick the unconscious Doctor. The explosives wrapped securely around the shorter man was of course the deciding factor.

Sebastian scowled at the unconscious form, he hated everything the man represented.

Carl had thought he was going to get a free ticket out of Haven Homes with a swimming scholarship. Jim had taken care of the sadistic bully, this had scared Moran. Only because he feared Jim would be found out, especially when that Holmes kid was trying to rouse suspicion.

He and his little pet playing detective. Really, why couldn't he just drop it? Jim took those damn trainers; he took them and hid them. Refusing to tell Moran where he'd stashed them, only saying they were in a safe place.

Yeah, he still didn't know where that had been. Seeing how Carl's shoes, poisoned by the way, were in great shape. They looked brand new in fact, how Jim preserved them so well he would never know.

This whole game Jim played with Holmes was sick, but as usual Sebastian came along for the ride. Sometimes Jim got a bit out of hand, it was Seb's job to cover the kid's ass when this occurred. Although, Jim wasn't a kid anymore was he? He was a well known consulting criminal. Just the whisper of his name in any criminal circle brought whole syndicates to their knees, and politicians scurrying to appease the thin Irishman.

Sebastian liked this, yeah, they had come a long way since Haven Home.

He needed to put ice on his cracked ribs, the feisty little Doctor had put up a damn good fight. Sebastian had underestimated him, he should have known better, after all the Doctor was just as well trained as the sniper. The fact that Watson had been injured seriously had no affect on the bastard's ability to throw a punch or accurately land an elbow.

**_~0~_ **

Jim waited excitedly behind the exit door, easily concealed. He was bursting with energy, he couldn't wait to see Sherlock's face. Oh, it was like Christmas! John had tried to fight but once he noticed the explosives he'd become pretty compliant. **_Boring._**

Really there wasn't anything interesting about the ex army doctor. He was ordinary. Nothing like Sebastian, no, his Sebastian had purpose and a streak of cruelty. Jim had recognized this almost immediately upon meeting the much bigger and stronger accomplice.

When the noises and voices got too loud, Sebastian had always been there to offer his form of comfort. Usually it was helping clean up the mess Jim had made. Really Sebby was such a worrier.

Jim thought of his father, it was amazing what a little bit of drain cleaner mixed with the white powder of coke could do to a man. Then there was that unfortunate explosion in the basement with the meth lab.

Jim hadn't thought of what would happen next, the idiot police had shown up and taken him to a hospital. There some woman asked him questions he refused to answer. The lights and the hands that kept touching were too much, and then they brought him to a place far away in the middle of the night.

He couldn't remember how he got under the table, but he did remember Sebastian. Another non important idiot among the faceless and unmemorable drones.

James was small, and the other kids leered and snickered, Jim knew the look of predators. Hadn't his father the same gleam in his cold eyes? The hands that reached for him, hands that wanted to pull him out from under the table into the vulnerability of the open. Confusion, so much confusion and he fought and bit the hands.

He waited for retaliation but it never came, instead a pair of almost gold eyes, questioning and concerned met his questioning ones. Something Jim couldn't understand, except when his dear Ma had sang to him when he had nightmares. She had the same expression on her face. Then the gold eyed kid with the hunched shoulders offered him a sweet. No one had asked Jim if he was hungry or wanted to eat, he hadn't eaten in days. And here was some candy, offered free, without anything tied to it. This big kid didn't want anything in return.

James found an ally immediately in the bigger boy, he had interesting scars too, James could tell what made them. Sebastian is what they called him but only James could call him Sebby.

The echo of closing metal doors brought him out of his musings. He had made it this far, and Sebastian had proven useful. Time to start the show. Sherlock was the only one that was Moriarty's equal, he'd discovered this when Sherlock tried to stir up an investigation over little pathetic nobody, Carl Powers.

Ever since, James' interest was peeked. That and the infuriating Consulting Detective as he called himself(dull), had foiled several of James' well thought out plans. Not only was he being annoyed by the younger Holmes but the older one had a hit squad out for the Consulting Criminal's blood.

They were just begging for Moriarty to come out and play. So here he was.

Game on.


	64. Hidden Meanings

John stood there the bomb attached to his chest, and Sherlock couldn't breathe, his usually sharp and responsive brain went blank. This would have been terrifying but to the great detective these things didn't even register.

All he could think was ' _John_.' Then that bastard Moriarty steps out, Sherlock felt sick hearing the maniac ordering John around like a puppet.

Threats of course the supposed mad genius was going to threaten the consulting detective how predictable. However taking John, now that wasn't part of the game, John wasn't a piece to be moved around the chess board. John was made of flesh and bone; he had a heart and voice.

Anger, white hot rage started to flood through the younger Holmes and he could think of nothing else but revenge. Well, after getting the bomb off of John. Once that vest was far from the good Doctor, then Sherlock would see to tearing Moriarty apart from limb to limb.

John 's face became a hard mask of determination, he moved forward in a flash. Strong arms pulled Moriarty into a hold.

"Run Sherlock!"

Why would Sherlock run, he couldn't leave John behind, John was important.

"Ooh, he's feisty I see why you like him. But oh." Moriarty choked out from behind John's strong hold crushing the professor's fragile windpipe. Still grinning like mad Moriarty giggled, "Look, I have one of my own too. He's smarter than yours and I see the appeal of army men, the uniform is just adorable. Unfortunately Sebby doesn't have my wonderful sense of humor, and he is a bit overprotective. You may want to remove your hands Doctor Watson, unless you want to see Sherlock's beautiful brain splattered on the walls."

John's face lost all color and his blue eyes focused on the middle of Sherlock's forehead, the consulting detective read his own expression in those blue eyes, fear. John didn't fear for his own life, the fear was for Sherlock's.

This Sebby was a sniper, Sherlock could deduce that easily, a sniper with a laser sight locked onto Sherlock's head. John needed to get the bomb off, and he needed to get out. This is the only thing Sherlock cared about. John wasn't supposed to be here, it was between Moriarty and Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock how sweet. Sentiment is a disgusting weakness, I'm ashamed for you."

"What do you want?" Sherlock demanded holding the gun on Moriarty, but his eyes flicked over to John every few seconds, he had to be sure John was alright.

More threats, _predictable_. Sherlock just wanted the Irishman to finish with the game so he could safely remove John from the board.

"Let John go and we can talk." Sherlock growled.

"Oh, but this is so much more fun." Moriarty clapped his hands, "I love how your pet does tricks. He is a good dog. I almost want to take him home with me. But one army veteran is enough. You know how pets get jealous." Moriarty shook his head placing his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Let him go or I'll shoot you."

"You wont, because if you did you wouldn't have much time to cherish the look of surprise on my face. Then booooooom!" He clapped his hands together loudly, "No more John, and all the kings horses and all the kings men won't be able to put Johnny back together again." The madman pouted as if he was authentically upset about this possible outcome.

Sherlock clutched the Browning's grip, he wanted to squeeze the trigger, wanted to kill.

"Now, I'll let you know. I will eventually kill you. I have a special plan for that. However, this is just a well needed meeting. Stay out of my way Sherlock Holmes."

"Or what? You've already said you were going to kill me."

"Yes. I did." Moriarty's eyes started to glow and his manic grin disappeared "If you continue to get in my way and that of my clients, I'll burn you. I'll burn the _ha-art_ out of you." Moriarty's accent became more apparent when expressing his warning.

It confused Sherlock the words the psychopath or rather the true sociopath was using.

"Heart? I've been reliably informed I don't have one."

"Oh, but we both know that isn't true. Anyway, goodbye-" A growl " _Sherlock Holmes_."

"Catch you later." The detective's eyes and aim followed the maniac as he disappeared through the pool exit.

"No you wont!" the sing song voice taunted and the door slammed. Judgingby John's relaxed form Sherlock assumed the red laser light was gone as well.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock couldn't breathe, he had to get the vest off of John, get it far from them both. "John? Are you alright?" He tore the green parka from his friend yanking the vest with it sliding it far from the Doctor.

"Sherlock." John's voice was breathless than more firm "Sherlock?!"

"What? Yes?"

"You alright?" the soldier asked the slightly dazed detective.

"Yeah, yeah of course. You?" he didn't wait for an answer going through the door Moriarty disappeared through. He was gone, the threat was gone.

"John?" Sherlock could see his friend crouched against the wall, his face devoid of color. "That thing you offered to do-"

"It's a good thing nobody saw that." John cut his friend off trying to bring levity to the situation.

"Hmm?" What the hell was John going on about?

"You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People would talk."

"They do little else." Both men laughed easily, it was a happy to be alive laugh, and then a red dot circled John's chest and moved to his forehead.

**_~0~_ **

Later this image would haunt Sherlock, all through the night he had to remind himself that his friend was fine. John was safely sleeping upstairs, alive and breathing.

Things were far from fine, he needed to keep John safe, the rules of the game had changed. John was a player whether Sherlock approved or not. This night was a test and Sherlock failed.

Moriarty wanted to see him panic, and even with his usual mask of boredom the true sociopath Moriarty saw right through it. Sherlock looked into Moriarty's eyes and saw dark excitment. He was mad at the world, bored with the stupidity of people, he needed a distraction.

"Sherlock?" John's soft voice nearly caused his friend to jump. "Sorry mate, forgot you were in your mind palace, but I made you some tea. I couldn't sleep."

How long had John been standing there holding a cup, Sherlock hadn't even heard the kettle.

"Sleep is for the weak. Purely overrated."

"I beg to differ, but hey agree to disagree." John smiled plopping down in his chair.

Sherlock realized he was grinning, luckily John wasn't paying attention to him, and instead his Blogger was staring into the tea cup. Sherlock's amusement over the fact that John had a chair and thus a place there at Baker Street, drained over the realization that John almost had been taken.

John was willing to give his life so that Sherlock could get away? Did the man really think Sherlock would go? Was that a soldier thing? Did he expect Sherlock to follow the order without a care what happened to the Doctor? And even more troubling, how could John his best friend, ever think his life was so easily thrown away?

John was a good man, Sherlock didn't believe in hero's this much was true, but he was wrong to say that. There was a hero sitting across from him, and how could John not even be aware of such a quality?

"John?" Sherlock broke the silence.

"Yeah." John didn't look up from his computer screen.

"That first day in the park, the day we met-"

"Yeah, how could I forget that day, I got the shit kicked out of me."

"Why did you come to my aid?"

John frowned his blue eyes questioning. "You know I ask myself that everyday." He was trying to loosen the tension, but Sherlock wouldn't allow for a subject change. John read the seriousness of the situation and smiled brightly,

"Well to be honest I don't know. I mean I thought you were younger than you looked. Which I was right. And I hate to see someone being pushed around or bullied."

"And then after? After you got to know me? You still came around."

"Sherlock whats wrong? What's this all about?" When no answer came John sighed, closing his computer. "Sherlock. You're my best friend. I was so alone. I know you think I found you in the park but feels like you found me. I mean you didn't have to be my friend. According to everyone you were incapable of friendship, but you still chose to keep me around. Me, boring, ordinary John. And you never brought up my father or sister. Never through your money in my face. You and even Mycroft were like the brothers I never had. I don't care what anyone says you're a good person a true hero. Even if you don't believe in heroes, you are one. And no one will ever be able to tell me otherwise. Now if you don't mind I'd like to be done talking like a couple of school girls and get to bed. Do try not to start any fires or blow anything up until a decent hour, preferably after eight am tomorrow. Goodnight." John smiled stretching he put his tea mug away and headed for bed.

Sherlock didn't reply, he returned to his mind place trying to delete the image of John strapped to a vest, the best he could do was lock the image away in one of the closes of John's room.

Sherlock turned expecting the room to be empty but the twelve year old version of John was standing and staring at him curiously. The bruise on John's cheek was less noticeable, the colors were fading to a yellow and green.

"Sherlock?"

"John?"

"You are the only family I know. If you leave I will too."

"John?"

"Remember you can't do this on your own." The boy turned on his heels and went back to his chair, picking up Treasure Island, carefully stepping over the chess board that was sitting in the middle of floor.

"Every good Pirate Captain needs a first mate and a good Doctor as part of his crew." Then the blond tilted his head slightly examining Sherlock's expression curiously. Sherlock glared at the chess board it shouldn't be in here; John hated it, after a handful of remarkably quick losses against the six year old Sherlock.

"I was never good at chess." John sighed returning to his book.

Sherlock left the room without a word, when had his mind palace become less of a refuge?


	65. CHECK

_**CHAPTER 65. CHECK** _

 

Moriarty was proving to be a bit more difficult than what Sherlock anticipated; in fact he was guilty of underestimating the mad man and his organization. 

“Sherlock! We need to coordinate!” John growled jerking his handcuffed wrist back as Sherlock climbed over a tall gate in a dark alley.

Sherlock snapped out of his musings, how could he have nearly forgotten he was handcuffed to John. His friend was grinning despite the cold London air and the fact that the two were now fugitives from the law.

“I was supposed to be having diner with Mary tonight. Tell me-“ John grunted climbing over the gate and jumping down. “-how is it that you always manage to ruin a good date. I just met this girl and I liked her. “

“Well John it wasn’t my idea to bean the Super Intendant.” Sherlock rolled his eyes pulling his short legged friend down another alley. John was laughing now.

“You’re right that was my fault but he had it coming!”

“Really John you never had such a short temper. I’m not entirely convinced the army was a great idea.”

“Well I did learn how to swear in Russian and a complimentary bullet in the shoulder sometimes I wonder the same.”

Sherlock halted outside Kitty Riley’s building, “I give the police an hour before someone tips them off where we are.”

“Well away we go. After you.” Sherlock rolls his eyes and the two make their way up the fire escape and through the woman’s open bathroom window. It was all so easy almost too easy.

“And of course she has hideous décor.” Sherlock huffed plopping down next to his friend on the small couch.

“Sherlock don’t you think we should call Mycroft?” John made a face as if it physically hurt to ask such a question.

The dark haired detective shakes his head, not willing to say it was part Mycroft’s fault they were in this situation. Something about that name Richard Brooke wasn’t right, but Sherlock needed to confirm it.

He glanced at the small table grabbing for a hair pin, it took less than a minute to pick the metal cuffs. John rubbed his bruised wrist and smiled gratefully, “So we wait for her is that the plan.”

Sherlock nodded glancing down at the paper, it was dated for tomorrow, reading the first few paragraphs made him snort. John curiously picked up the paper but he didn’t have a chance to read it when in walked Kitty Riley and a very exhausted looking James Moriarty. A very dressed down humble looking sociopath, it was John who started forward angrily.

“You!”

“What the hell!” Kitty exclaimed jumping at the sight of the duo.

“You said I would be safe here.” James whined, playing the part of a terrified man perfectly.

“Richard, you are safe. I’ll call the police!”

“Richard?” John snapped, “Richard! This is James Moriarty!”

“No, tell them Kitty, tell him. Please doctor Watson you’re a good man a noble man. He paid me, he paid me to pretend-“

“You shut up! Stop this! You lie! You strapped me to a bloody bomb!”

“No, it was all a hoax.” Jim was holding Kitty in front of him like a shield, his voice a pathetic half sob.

“You’re Richard Brooke?” Sherlock snorted. “I should have guessed and of course you have evidence.” Sherlock sounded annoyed. This caused John to turn away from the mad man behind the stupid reporter.

“Sherlock?” Kitty pulled a file from her handbag.

“Here it’s all there, everything proof you hired this poor man to play a villain that you orchestrated all these crimes!”

John snatched the folder from her, his anger rising he’d realized he was holding the damn paper still, tomorrows paper.

“This isn’t-this is a load of shit! “ John growled and dove for Moriarty wanting to strangle the skinny bastard but he shot up the stairs John followed ignoring Kitty’s yells and threat to call the police.

To late James was out the small window in the bathroom and down the fire escape, John swore angrily wishing he had his gun.

“Come on John best not stick around.” Sherlock climbed through the window but John rounded on Kitty who was just ending her call to the police.

“You will regret printing this!”

“Will I? Is that a threat Doctor Watson. Looks to me you were taken in just like everyone else.”

“I grew up with this man. These things are fabrications there is very little truth to this. I’m warning you-“

“What? Are you going to have me killed? Perhaps frame me as well?” The woman squared her shoulders crossing her arms over her chest.

“You are making a mistake and one day I’ll be there to laugh when your career goes down in flames. After the truth comes out you wont be able to find a job at the print shop selling ads for dry cleaning and used beauty products!”

“John!” Sherlock snapped from the fire escape the doctor turned and climbed out after his friend.

The two stood in the street, “I’m going to the morgue I have to speak to Molly about the samples of bacteria we found in the shoes.”

“Fine. I’ll catch up with you.” Sherlock didn’t ask John where he was going there was too much to think on at the moment.

**_~0~_ **

John had one destination in mind, the Diogenes club, having been there enough the man at the door let him in without hesitation. John went straight for Mycroft’s office and sat in the chair near the fire, his majesty wasn’t in and the room felt empty and colder.

The army doctor tried to calm his racing heart and thoughts, thing were out of control. Mycroft could fix this, Mycroft could fix anything, after all he would do anything for his little brother. John leaned back to relax annoyed that he was holding the folded up article for tomorrow’s paper. He started to read again and it dawned on him slowly like the idiot he was.

“Stupid John!” the doctor groaned.

“Talking to one self is a sign of insanity John, I think keeping company with my-“

“It was you.” John cut the older Holmes off, the older man sat down behind his desk, he didn’t reply.

“It was you. You-“ John took a deep breath. “Moriarty was looking for the perfect ammunition to take Sherlock down and you’ve given it to him! It’s a pack of lies wrapped up in a thin layer of truth and people will believe it!”

“John-“

“Explain it to me Mycroft.” John tossed the paper on the floor shaking his head he rubbed his temples. “You’ve worked so hard to keep Sherlock safe. Safe from himself, safe from drugs and even-even from me! But this mad man! You allowed him to waltz in. This fucking criminally insane sociopath has an obsession with your little brother and you-you hand deliver him.”

“John-let me explain.”

And Mycroft did, he explained that it was the country or his brother. That Moriarty only wanted a little information and he would talk. It seemed meaningless at the time. The older Holmes thought he was winning that he held all the cards, this bit of pride was his undoing.

John stood shaking his head, his jaw clinched. “For such a bloody genius you are an idiot Mycroft Holmes.”

“John tell him I’m sorry-“

John was already marching out of the room leaving the door open, it was more effective than slamming the door.

The silence was almost consuming as the older Holmes sat alone in his office, he glanced at the paper John had left.

**_~0~_ **

Sherlock watched John from across the room, Molly had surprised the consulting detective with her observation. He couldn’t help but go over her words, their wasn’t anything empty about them, she meant what she said.

He tried to think of a way out, things were snow balling and it was all his fault for underestimating his opponent.

He thought of John from that first day he’d met him, John walking to the library. The blond could have kept going but he didn’t, it wasn’t his nature to let things happen if he could stop it. Even out numbered John faced down bullies because it was the right thing to do.

Countless times in school John had stood up to taunting idiots, he accepted their cruel words. He was a scholarship kid they said he smelled funny, he spoke funny his clothes were hand me downs. This wasn’t true, John’s clothes were new just like Sherlock’s’ At the time both boys were under the understanding that it came with the scholarship. Had John given up and decided to ignore Sherlock school would have been easier, but he didn’t.

John would face down Moriarty like he faced down those bullies in the park. The ones ready to pummel a six year old boy who couldn’t help but point out their flaws and secrets.

Here he was a fugitive from the law because he once again decided to play the loyal friend.

Mycroft was right, Sherlock led a dangerous life and it wasn’t fair to drag John down with him.

He made his choice then, and it left his heart aching. Was this how Mycroft felt when he came up with decisions that had affected Sherlock’s life. No Mycroft didn’t care, he did it out of a sense of obligation. That was what Sherlock would always be to his brother, but John-John was more than that.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair watching his friend try not to nod off, John trusted they would find a way out of this mess together. Simple, loyal and trusting John. Remembering the emotions that nearly overwhelmed the detective when that  CIA agent held a gun to John’s head, when the idiot of a man started a count down.  Sherlock found his mind going blank before the answer came to him nearly to late.

He couldn’t risk that again, John said friends protect each other, he had always said that. Except it has always been John protecting Sherlock, and Sherlock frowned remembering the bruises that lined his friend’s back, the broken arm and the bloodied nose. He hadn’t done anything for John, he earned him a bullet in the shoulder, and almost being blown up.

He sent a text to one of his more reliable homeless network associates. Shortly after the exhausted John received a call, that was Sherlock's cue to text Moriarty.

The players on the board would be moved, and John was never good at chess.


	66. CHECK MATE

_**CHAPTER 66. CHECK MATE** _

Moran wasn’t stupid despite what everyone thought, he could think for himself he could read Jim better than most. And he knew something was coming, Jim was acting more and more erratically. Since the pool the man had slept less and he’d become more unpredictable.( If that was possible?)

Last week Jim shot twelve men without hesitation, which were twelve henchmen they had to replace. Well they were cheap to come by, but still something was wrong.

Jim seemed obsessed with that Holmes and his precious little Doctor.

“Look at them Sebbs. Their little house of cards will fall soon. He’ll learn like we did there is no escape from the dull boredom. From your demons.”

“Jim why are we even focusing on Holmes? Just let me slit his throat or I can get a clean shot off.”

“Sebby that wouldn’t be fun. No no no, not fun at all. I promised to burn him, to burn the heart out of him. He thinks he’s untouchable; we’ve only given him a taste of what we are capable of. He thinks he’s better than us, above us, more clever, he’s not. He is me. Once he comes to terms with that the faster the game ends.”

“And then what Jim?” Sebastian wondered now over his friend’s sanity, the kid was losing it.

Sebastian did worry, what happened after this distraction ended this game as Jim put it. They were well off, the business was bringing in more money then they could spend. Still Jim wasn’t happy, he wanted Holmes to suffer. Sebastian didn’t like the prick or his loyal dog but he could care less if they lived or died at this point. What he cared about was Jim.

“Don’t you see Sebastian. He’s taunting us. He thinks he’s untouchable and above it all. He’s not. Is he Sebastian? He’s not. And I’ll show him exactly what I am capable of, what I can take from him. And he’ll be just like me. Just like me.”

Sebastian didn’t dare ask questions instead he sighed heavily “Jim come on you need to eat.”

James had refused food, he glared at Sebastian, crossing his arms he stood in the empty study.

Sebastian felt as if he were trying to coax that kid out from under the table again, except it was a table and James wasn’t frightened. He was frightening, and stubborn Sebastian rubbed his temples and sat down on the black leather sofa and Jim continued to glare at his sniper.

“Why do you care Sebastian? Why are you still here?” the dark haired man crossed his arms over his chest.

This threw the sniper off, he was used to Jim’s tantrums but there was no malice or anger just curiosity. The brown eyes sharp and probing.

Sebastian leaned his head back into the soft leather of the couch, “I just do. You’re my brother James, of course I’m going to worry. You’re working too much, and this vendetta it’s taking a lot out of you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you aren’t sleeping and when you do…” Sebastian was talking to the ceiling he wasn’t even looking at his friend. The blond soldier shook his head not wishing to continue with the conversation. He didn’t want to say that James had nightmares that he pulled out of screaming.

“What is it about this idiot freak you cant let go James. You’ve beaten him already at the pool. And now this whole dramatic game of follow the bread crumbs the man’s reputation is ruined and you did all of that. So why go any further?”

The skinny young man turned to his desk, his fingers tapping against the cold marble top, “You were never good at chess my dear Sebby.  I have him at check and I will have him a check mate.”

Sebastian felt a chill run up his spine hearing his friend’s cool words, something in the tone told the sniper that James would win whatever the cost.

**_~0~_ **

Sebastian watched through the scope, James had given him one order “If Sherlock Holmes doesn’t jump then kill John Watson.”

The sniper could do this except he was watching the roof across from where he was positioned; James had his back to the scope so Moran couldn’t read the man’s lips. He could see the color drain from the detective’s face.

That was priceless, watching Sherlock Holmes finally lose some of that haughty superiority. He viewed Sherlock step up to the ledge and smile smugly as if he had a secret the man turned towards Jim. That’s when the cab with Doctor Watson pulled up.

Sebastian was too busy watching Jim, there was a manic smile crossing the Irishman’s lips and Sebastian didn’t understand why his hands started to shake, why his heart sped up and his mouth went dry.

He knew he should be watching the Captain but the image through his scope was so clear and crisp everything moved so slow and fast all at once.

Jim with the gun to his mouth and the blood, the blood that exploded from his temple. Moran dropped the riffle; he dropped it and screamed “JAMES!”

His heart in his throat, he’d kill Holmes, kill him with his bare hands, he would see him die slowly. First, first he had to get to James, had to be sure he was alright. So what if a head shot was fatale 97 percent of the time. So what if survivors were never the same. James had to be alright he had to be alright.

Heart pounding through his chest and ears as the Colonel pushed through the doors of the hospital bumping into the hospital staff running out. On some level he understood someone outside was hurt,  Sebastian vaguely recalled stepping through the blood on his way into the building but never registered it.

All that mattered was James. His friend was on the roof, hurt and needing help.

Sebastian could hear the echo of a young boy’s haunting words _"For someone who cares so much you would think he'd keep a better eye on his brother."_

It was too late when Moran reached the roof James was dead, Sherlock that tosser was no where to be found. The sniper searched the building for him and then glanced down the side he could hear someone yelling, several people were running around a figure a broken figure. He then understood, glancing down at the broken body being lifted onto a gurney Sebastian found John Watson wasn’t so far away.

The ex soldier was sitting head in hands, a female Doctor kneeling down next to him trying to keep him calm. But Moran understood the man’s emotional state, and through the snipers rage he found this consoling. His hands itched to find his rifle to shoot the doctor through the heart, but no, let this be his punishment. Let the man suffer for failing to save his friend.

Again James’s words from long ago echoed in his head, _"For someone who cares so much you would think he'd keep a better eye on his brother."_

Moving back to look at his only friend Sebastian crouched down closing those wide brown eyes, at least James went out with a smile.

“Oh, James you mad idiot.” Sebastian allowed the sob to break from him, he couldn't see the man bleeding and dead. The ex-army Colonel could only see the figure of a young boy wearing state issued clothes, faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt.

Sebastian remembered the scared child hiding under the kitchen table of that boys home. The way dark hair had fallen into the kid's blinking eyes. Sebastian moved the strands from the closed eyelids, his calloused hand moved down the thin shoulder past the forearm until his large hand fell over the smaller one, still gripping the gun.

Already cold, the hand holding the gun's grip was just as cold as the metal, the sniper sniffed loudly, his memory still holding to the feeling of James's warm fingers brushing against his knuckles. The way the boy had snatched the candy from him. The look he'd been given still fresh with him and now it started to fade until all that was left was this. A cold body lying in a puddle of blood.

_Check mate._


	67. Observation From Afar

_**CHAPTER 67.  Observation from afar** _

Doctor Bales was leaving for the day, she’d spent enough time playing school with the new medical students. She rubbed her temples, the endless questions and nervous answers made her fear for the next wave of doctors about to enter the work force. Still they were all so young, maybe they would improve in time, although she had four fainters today. Really these kids needed to be ready for the realities of medicine; a cadaver wasn’t as bad as a groaning or sobbing accident victim. She’d been harsh with some of the students today but it was for their own good, they need to toughen up.

When she heard the code for an incoming trauma she shook her head, her shift ended five minutes ago and Barts was well staffed. Then one of the nurses was saying it was jumper, that someone had jumped from the building. The old Doctor winced, hating the idea of a young person taking their life. She automatically assumed it was a young person without knowing for sure. Several paramedics were rushing past her and she followed with a morbid curiosity, knowing that if someone had indeed jumped from the roof that there would be no CPR, or life saving measures.

A tall blond man shoved past her nearly knocking her over, she could see his shoe prints leaving blood marks, turning back to the doors she recognized the pale face, belonging to a distraught young man. Someone was holding the young doctor back.

“Please, let me through I’m his friend. I’m a doctor-“ _Doctor Watson_.

 Doctor John Watson’s voice sounded faint and breathless. Agnus Bales felt a tightness in her chest and a sudden rush of blood to her ears. She turned her head to follow John’s line of sight and her own legs threatened.

**_~0~_ **

“Please let me through!” John was trying to push past the many hands holding him back. He felt sick this had to be a dream, this was a horrible dream a nightmare. If only Sherlock would just wake him up. Someone firmly took his shoulders, urged him to sit on the sidewalk. The others were all faceless strangers just hands, that’s all John really registered were their hands lifting his friend onto a gurney.

 John strained to hear the beckoning vibrations of a violin, something that interrupted his worst dreams, calmed the raging panic in him so he could shift into something less distressing.

But the melody never came, it never would and he was lost in this nightmare.

**_~0~_ **

Sherlock waited in the dark of his brother’s office, he’d fled the scene dressed in a pair of jeans, a cap with the union jack color scheme and a baggy black hoody. Really he would have to ask Molly where she came by these hideous clothes. Sherlock had expected his brother to be at the Diogenes club and was surprised by the fact he wasn’t, he made his way across the empty room and sank down tiredly into his brother’s chair.

Rubbing his eyes he tried not to think of John’s face, the sound of his friend’s voice. There was no coming back from this, and John would hate him this time.

It was for the best, Sherlock realized now he didn’t have a choice, Moriarty’s people would kill him by cutting out those closest to him. His heart, his lungs and his conscience.

He felt a fool for not seeing this hand, how could he have allowed himself to be pushed into such a tricky move.

Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John were all safe for now, and those in Moriarty’s web would never see him coming. And he would be coming at them, they’d cross a line and it would be their turn to burn. Oh how he would burn them.

_Let me through I’m a doctor! I’m his friend-please let me through!_

John’s words were still fresh in his mind, they would echo through the halls of his mind palace, those words cut him and he had to put a hand over his chest for fear his heart was bleeding out. What a ridiculous idea, that words could physically cause such pain.

John had always been this to him, Sherlock was transport he was a head and a brain. All observations and tactlessness, John-his friend had been a heart and a reminder that Sherlock had one.

It hurt to breathe, seeing John’s face, the look in his eyes. Shock, John had gone into a state of shock and Sherlock could only watch from a few feet away. He could see that wretched woman, Doctor Bales holding John’s head down between his knees. His PTSD, Sherlock winced as another pain spread through his chest, John would be unable to sleep tonight. The blood would trigger him, and Sherlock took a deep breath trying to push the panic down. All this worry would only hold him back he needed to get started. Dammit! Where was Mycroft?

Sherlock couldn’t help but glare at his image in his brother’s darkened computer screen. Well might as well have some fun, he decided to change Mycroft’s passwords easily hacking his brother’s computer. It would give him something to do while he waited.

Glancing at Mycroft’s files he found a group of video files marked JW. Clicking on the first one Sherlock listened to a man in military fatigues.

"He said _'It's ok Bill. I wouldn't order someone to do something I wouldn't do. Besides it's no big loss if it's me._ '"

**_~0~_ **

Mycroft had a driver pick up John and he’d met the blond man back at the flat, the place felt so empty without his brother.

The British Government had left the Diogenes club the second he received the call. No matter how fast his driver drove Mycroft Holmes was too late. It was like the garden wall all over again except John had been unable to pull Sherlock down.

And it wasn’t John’s fault, no the older Holmes would never blame the good doctor. Especially not after seeing the complete look of loss in the young ex soldier’s eyes. No, this was Mycroft’s fault all of it, he knew how dangerous Moriarty was. He knew when the psychopath had shifted his attention from the older Holmes to the younger and he’d done nothing to stop it.

Now, now Sherlock was dead and it was his fault all of it. He cursed himself, falling back into familiar mistakes.

He’d thought John would keep Sherlock from doing anything to dangerous. Just as he’d trusted the younger man to keep his little brother occupied and out of trouble as a kid.

Mycroft should have been watching more closely, and now his little brother was dead. There would be no apologies between them nothing but unresolved anger and once again Sherlock Holmes had managed to get in the last word.

All Mycroft could think of now was that young boy with the mess of curls glaring up at him refusing to come down for dinner or come in from his tree climbing and treasure hunting.

It was over, no more arguing or video surveillance, Sherlock was gone. And once John regained his footing he would most likely want nothing to do with Mycroft as well.

The British Government entered his darkened office so lost in thought he didn’t catch the shifting shadow near the drawn curtains.

“I take it John is resting?”

Mycroft had been pouring himself a glass of expensive scotch when these words broke through his grief. Turning he found a ghost glaring irritably in his direction and the older Holmes dropped the crystal tumbler he held in his hand.

**_~0~_ **

“Sir.” Lestrade slammed the phone on his desk down, glaring up at the pale constable standing in his office doorway.

“Kelly?” Lestrade rubbed the back of his eyes leaning back in his chair. Damn Sherlock and this grief he was putting him through, when he found the bastard he was definitely going to put the handcuffs on rather tight.

He frowned when Kelly removed his hat holding it in his hands, something was wrong. “Kelly? Is everything alright? The kids-“

“Fine. They are all-“ The young man cleared his throat. “It’s Mr. Holmes sir-“ the constable ran a hand through his hair, his other hand clinching his officer’s cap.

“Oh, great what’s the idiot done now? Have they caught him?” Lestrade ground out not hiding the anger and exasperation in his gravely voice.

“They found him sir.” Kelly nodded, but there was a quiver to his chin.

Lestrade was on his feet and the constable cut any movement off with these next words. “He jumped. Jumped off St. Barts-he’s dead sir.”

“What?” Lestrade thought he’d misheard the other man, the DI couldn’t really hear much with the infernal pounding in his ears. Perhaps all that coffee was a bad idea.

“He jumped. Killed himself. He’s dead.” Kelly replied through clenched teeth.

“It’s true the nutter jumped.” Anderson’s nasally voice interrupted. “I have the report. So I guess the world finding out he was an absolute fraud was enough to push him over the edge. Well it wont keep his little lap dog Watson out of Jail-“

Before the forensics officer could go any further a hard fist caught him square in the nose propelling his unprepared form back out of Lestrade’s office.

Several others had to restrain the constable who was yelling angrily “Shut it! You jealous wanker! You don’t know a thing! Sherlock Holmes was a good man! Better than the likes of you! And so is his friend Doctor Watson!”

Lestrade just stood rooted to the spot next to his desk, unable to process the fact that his friend was gone.

**_~0~_ **

The funeral was rather boring by Sherlock’s standards. Mycroft was sure to make it simple, and he guarded the location from the press and would be fans or critics. So it had been a small gathering, to Sherlock’s surprise more than two people had shown up. He watched as John held a sobbing Mrs. Hudson, the woman was gripping a bouquet of flowers, she was playing the part of a mourning mother.

It wasn’t something Sherlock had ever given thought to, but there she was crying into a stoic John’s shoulder. The elderly woman was dressed in traditional black, and Sherlock was glad he couldn’t hear her words from where he stood.

There was Mycroft off to the side gripping his umbrella, eyes cold and expressionless. He glanced over to John and Mrs. Hudson occasionally and Sherlock wondered if his brother was capable of guilt. And if so, did Mycroft feel it now?

Pretending to mourn the loss of his brother’s life, while knowing that the casket was empty and the autopsy report was falsified.

Molly stood away from the crowd her shoulders hunched in defeat, and face pale, from the glances she sent Mrs. Hudson and John she did feel guilty. But Molly Hooper would take Sherlock’s secret to the grave. Molly  was a true friend and that’s what friends did they protect each other.

It was vital that no one knew the secret, and when Sherlock returned Mycroft had promised to clear his name and restore his life.

He glanced at John once more, the bags under his eyes spoke volumes, the slight tremor to his hand as it reached over to pat the landlady’s trembling shoulders. John kept a brave face but Sherlock knew there was so much more chaos going on under the mask of strength.

Sherlock was a bit surprised that DI Lestrade and Mike Stamford had gone to the burial ceremony. Even more so was the fact that Constable Clarke and his wife were there. The man was in his uniform as well as Constable Kelly and his wife, their two sons stood just to the left of Mrs. Kelly. Ian clung to his mother’s hand and the red haired Matthew held to his little brother’s hand.

The younger Kelly looked on confused whereas Matthew just kept his eyes on his shoes. Several others that Sherlock recognized had come, there was Angelo and his three nephews, a very mournful looking Henry Knight. Why was Henry there? He hardly knew the young man. A blond woman stood just to the right of John, she reached out and took his arm. Sherlock wondered how he hadn’t noticed her until now. Mrs. Hudson had gone to place her flowers over the empty casket, while it was lowered into the shallow grave.

Several other clients from Sherlock’s past were there as well it was odd seeing them drop a handful of dirt down into the hole and give their condolences to John and Mrs. Hudson but never Mycroft. Perhaps they’d all assumed John was his brother for all the work they’d done together and the dealings that the clients had with the man.

John had always been the more sympathetic one of the duo, it was strange watching each person try to console Sherlock’s landlady and best friend. From where Sherlock stood he could deduce that whatever they said they meant it, they really meant it. Henry Knight had even embraced the short ex soldier, that was unexpected.

The last to leave was John, Mrs. Hudson promised to wait in the car and the ex soldier moved to the fresh grave placing a hand on the black stone.


	68. THE PIRATE AND THE GHOST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for continuing to read the story...we are about to reach our end.

**_CHAPTER 68. THE PIRATE and THE GHOST  
_ **

**_FOUR ½ LONG YEARS LATER_ **

Sherlock knew it would be very unsafe to return to the flat at 221B no matter how tempted he had been, this plan of action was the better choice. He would first talk to Mycroft and as much as he hated it, he needed to rest somewhere familiar. He placed a hand over his left side, the bullet had gone straight through and he’d patched it up himself but the pain was exhausting.

He pulled his brown cardigan closed covering up the spreading blood stain on his white button up shirt beneath. He needed to clear his head, all this running and he had almost had Moran! Almost! If it weren’t for the idiots that Mycroft employed. He just needed to rest for a minute, damn his transport!

After this whole thing was over he could then figure out how he was going to approach John. He hoped John would understand, although his conscience warned this time he’d gone too far. That their friendship couldn’t be salvaged and Sherlock prepared himself for this outcome. Promising himself he would understand John’s decision. Besides nothing mattered as long as John was well and alive. Safe and sound.

The weary consulting detective sighed glancing over his slumped shoulders, the grass was cut green the summer was almost at its end but the sun was still warm on his chilled face. He’d dyed his hair blond and wondered if he would be recognized wearing the wire spectacles, and faded blue jeans. He missed his suits, the messenger bag slung over his shoulder gave him the appearance of a University student or a book salesman.

He considered knocking or just making his way to the staff entrance when he thought he saw a ghost running between the trees near the garden wall.

The ghost was weaving in and out of the trees laughing easily glancing behind him every few seconds as if expecting to be chased.

Sherlock found himself moving towards this blond streak, this kid was dressed in jeans and stripped blue t shirt. The shade of the large trees rustled their leaves at Sherlock and the clean country air was giving him a headache. Just when he thought the apparition was gone,

“Arg. What be this, a trespasser perhaps?” came a young voice from behind him and Sherlock turned slowly hands up facing a blond boy carrying an old familiar wooden sword.

“Am I to walk the plank? I see no ship?” Sherlock couldn’t help but reply breathlessly, he bit back the pain in his side.

The young boy giggled and put his sword down. “Hello.” A pair of blue eyes, haunting blue eyes looked up at him curiously.

“Hello.” Sherlock couldn’t think of anything else to say but the boy only smiled warmly.

“Are you lost?” the boy asked lowering his sword he tilted his head curiously looking up at Sherlock “You seem lost.”

Sherlock decided he was hallucinating; all the blood loss had finally caught up to him.

“That’s a very nice sword you have there.”

“I found it in the garden shed.” The boy replied shrugging leaning it against the old tree.

A memory of a dark haired boy using that same sword to hack into the tree flared up and the exhausted man fought to lock it back into the room of his mind palace.

“I’m on an adventure with my first mate but he had to go. His grandfather said it was time to go home.” The young blond boy frowned toeing at the grass with his scuffed up black and white converse. The shoes were new, the boy wore a pair of jeans, grass stained at the knees, it was the way he smiled that made Sherlock falter and his thoughts short circuit.

This hallucination was a miniature replica of John, except this boy was loved. Loved from the tips of his new converse to the dinosaur plaster at the corner of his forehead. This was something else, there was no black eye but the young boy had bruising just beneath his plaster and scrapes on the right side of his face. John had sported a black eye for most of winter holiday one year. Why was this figure haunting the detective? Was this really what his mind wanted to dredge up now? Old sentiment long since kept locked away, only ever brought out in between missions and before sleep truly overcame the dead man.

“We were supposed to bury a treasure. He was going to make the map.” This hallucination stated with great disappointment.

“How old are you?” Sherlock asked his mouth suddenly dry.

“Four, I’ll be five soon.” He straightened his shoulders proudly. “Uncle Myc rented a big jumpy thing that looks like a pirate ship for my birthday! He showed me pictures on a website. “

“Uncle Myc?” Now Sherlock knew he was hallucinating.

“Yes. We’re going to the museum tomorrow! Have you been to the museum? They have human skulls and-“ he stopped as if remembering something. “Oh-uh sorry. Are you here to visit Uncle Myc?”

Sherlock nodded suddenly feeling the need to sit down.

“Do you have an appointment?” the young boy was suspicious now, “I hope you’re not selling stuff. The last salesman that came to the door Royce set the dogs on him.”

“You don’t have dogs.” The young boy giggled in response to Sherlock's eye roll.

“I know but it would have been funny. Uncle Myc’s min-min-“

“Minions?”

“Yes! That’s what daddy calls them. Mini-ons.” The boy struggled with the word “They usually don’t let anyone get this far. Uncle Myc is important. “

“Really?”

“Yes.” The boy replied in an _as a matter of fact_ tone. This irritated Sherlock for some reason he couldn’t help but curl his lip in disgust.

“And where is your father?” Sherlock followed the boy towards the house.

“He had a conference.” The boy shrugged “He always works. He’s a doctor.” The boy smiled proudly.

Sherlock felt sick, so John was married and had a son, nice of uncle Myc to leave this bit of information out.

The young boy had a good scrape just above his eyebrow, and at his elbow he was walking backwards facing Sherlock openly curious about the stranger. When he noticed the not salesman's attention to his plasters he thought this stranger had the same face uncle Myc did. The one uncle Myc made when he was listening to Lilith explain how Hamish fell off his bike.

“I fell. See.” He lifted his shirt and showed similar scrapes. “It was off my bike at the park. Don’t know what the big deal was. It hurt but only for a minute and I didn’t cry.” The young boy glared up at Sherlock as if daring him to say otherwise.

“Well that’s good of you.” Sherlock mumbled in reply the boy smiled again and continued to walk towards the staff entrance.

“Yeah. Except daddy blamed Lilith and Mr. Troy.”

“Lillith?” Sherlock inquired.

“The nanny.” The boy made a face. "I dont need a nanny. Anyway Mr. Troy worked for Uncle Myc. They both got sacked. I didn’t much like her anyway she always made me take a nap when Mr. Troy came around.” Sherlock’s eyebrow arched. “And gran thought she was uppity?” He shrugged “Gran cant always watch me she has a sick sister and has to travel a lot. She makes the best scones. But don’t tell Sylvie.”

“I wont.” Sherlock moved slowly glad for the boy’s distracted pace while he spoke.

“Gran has the best stories, so I don’t mind taking a nap. But no one’s stories are better than my dad’s. He has funny ones and scary ones. There was one about a big hound. That one is scary and it's my favorite. “

Sherlock didn’t reply he was trying to concentrate on moving his feet. “Uncle Myc has good stories too, he told me one about a boy who came to meet the queen wearing a sheet.” the blond giggled into his hand.

Sherlock stiffened, “Oh, what other stories does he tell you?”

“He mostly reads to me. I hate naps but it’s not so bad.”

“You speak very well for someone your age.”

Mini John smiled again turning over his shoulder “Uncle Myc says that too. Do you work for the government too?”

Sherlock snorted and the boy rolled his eyes shaking his head in response.

“What about your mother, she was working as well?”

 “No. She died when I was born. It’s just me and Dad.” Again a shrug and the matter of fact tone.

“Do you have a name?”

“Yeah of course.” This lightened the mood, they reached the kitchen’s door.

“Hamish Sigerson Watson at your service.” The boy turned with his offered hand. Sherlock shakily accepted it, Hamish had the same polite smile John often wore. "The pirate of the seven seas."


	69. Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art of being the British Government and an Uncle

**_CHAPTER 69_**. _**Uncle**_

Mycroft sighed hanging up the phone, his agents had let him know that they’d lost his brother once again. He wasn’t happy or surprised after the results of this last mission Mycroft tried texting his brother’s burn phone once more expecting no reply. He sank down in his black leather throne like chair and massaged his temples.

A soft knock interrupted his irritation and then a young voice “Uncle Myc?”

Mycroft straightened in his chair “Come in Hamish.” He couldn’t help but smile when  the boy entered. Mycroft hadn’t been prepared for the role of Uncle and it surprised him how much he enjoyed having a nephew.

**_~0~_ **

Mycroft had ended another call with his little brother, ever the petulant one. The younger Holmes was in Hong Kong tracking a lead, already the determined young man had brought in several drug lords and sex traffickers. It wasn’t the end there was always more, and Sherlock  was searching for Moran. Once he reached the top of the web he could return home.  When he’d taken on the task had no idea the extent of Moriarty’s reach.  Sherlock hadn’t said as much but Mycroft sensed his little brother’s distress and frustration over the matter. What looked like a few months was going to be the better part of a year maybe even more.

Anthea interrupted his dark musings as she burst through his office doors. “Sir, Mary Watson has gone into labor. I have a car picking up the doctor from the conference but it will be an hour before he gets here.”

Mycroft was on his feet, “Have-“

“Yes sir, I’ve had a specialist as well as a NICU team ready for any possible outcome.”

“Very good.” Mycroft grabbed his umbrella and headed to the hospital to meet John. The Doctor’s were busy trying to stop Mary’s contractions, for all the money and specialist Mycroft had, baby Hamish wouldn’t be stalled.

John arrived just as Hamish was being brought into the world, a nurse had wrapped him in a blue blanket and the medical team moved him immediately into an incubator. The child was having trouble breathing and they would have the tiny form incubated.

Mycroft stood when the Doctor came to speak to a pacing John,  being a master at observation and deduction Mycroft already knew what the Doctor was about to say.

The British Government wasn’t a man of comforting words, or offering a shoulder to cry on. He did however reach out a hand to steady the young man’s trembling shoulders. The Doctor explained the complications that led to Mary's death and the high probability that the infant wouldn’t make it through the night.

Mycroft briefly wondered where Harriette was during this turbulent time, he received an answer two hours later. Anthea had thankfully intercepted the intoxicated blond before she reached the room that held the tiny infant and his distraught father.

The older Holmes entered the small ward,  a nurse smiled at him politely she finished checking Baby Watson's chart. He neared the chair John had taken up residence in, his eyes unblinkingly focused on the tiny form, the baby’s chest would rise and fall to the rhythm of the respirator.

“His lungs aren’t formed just yet.” John’s voice was gravelly and dry.

“John you need rest.”

“I cant leave him. I left Mary to go to work this morning and now she’s gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I never get to say goodbye.” John murmured tiredly rubbing his red rimmed eyes. Mycroft wondered if the young man was referring to John's drunkard father, or to Sherlock with that last comment.

The British Government frowned watching the small figure with a blue cap pulled over his small bald head.

“He’s a boy.” John gestured, “Mary wanted to name him Hamish.” The Doctor wiped at his eyes and sniffed.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Mycroft. I can’t do this on my own. I don’t even know how to be husband let alone a father. I had the worst example-” The younger man’s voice broke.

“Rather you had the best example of what not to be John. “ Mycroft kept his eyes on the sleeping child, he made a decision then. “We are not our father’s John. And you were a good husband to Mary. She was happy enough. I was a bit taken back by the fact the two of you-well lets say normally it’s the wedding then the baby.” John nodded smiling sadly.

“Hamish wasn’t planned. Believe me it was a bit of a surprise that Mary was pregnant we’d only known each other a few months.”

“Regardless, here he is. And from experience a Watson has a way of surprising you.” John kept his eyes on his son.

“Hamish Sigerson Watson.” John luckily didn’t notice the stiffening of Mycroft’s shoulders and sudden in take of air hearing his brother’s alias. “It’s what Sherlock used to call himself. Sigerson Holmes the Ghost of the seven seas.” Mycroft nodded stiffly taking his leave.  

“If you or Hamish are in need of anything, anything at all please don’t hesitate.”

“Thank you Mycroft.”

And Mycroft took the opportunity have a private room for John and the baby set aside, this child would have any care needed to insure quality  of life and longevity.

A night turned into days into weeks and the two were released after a month. John hadn’t protested when Mycroft told the doctor he closed the practice and had another Doctor take over the handling of Dr. Watson’s patients.

It was a few months later that Mycroft arrived in front of John and Mary’s home. Harriette had called him, Mycroft only assumed she took his number from John’s mobile. The struggling alcoholic was working as a relator she’d discussed with John the practicalities of selling his home. The exhausted Doctor wasn’t comfortable there and wished for something closer to London as well as his practice.

She called Mycroft out of concern for her brother, he was looking worn down and she worried that the stress of moving would push him over the edge. Mycroft had to agree with her on the young doctor’s emotional state. So he showed up at the home that was once Mary’s and Johns. Harriette welcomed him in, Mycroft could see she was sober he deduced she’d managed a three week stint without drinking this time.

“John! You have a visitor.” She called into the living room. Young Hamish was asleep in another room and the ex soldier had been nodding off in a comfortable old chair. Mycroft took in his friend’s appearance. John had lost weight and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Mycroft?” John stood up to greet the taller man.

“John.”

“Excuse the mess we are in the middle of packing-“

“Yes. I can see that.” Mycroft nodded glancing at the half packed clutter of boxes.

“Is everything alright?” John eyed the older Holmes, “Something-“

“This is just a visit John. I haven’t heard from you or Hamish.”

“He’s sleeping just down the hall. He’s fine.” John sat back down gesturing for Mycroft to sit. The older man remained standing.

“John, why don’t you and Hamish get in the car. I’ve taken the liberty of having my driver bring around a car seat for the infant if you already don’t have one.”

“Mycroft? I cant leave right now. I-“

“John Sylvie is making your favorite tonight. Chicken Risotto and Royce has readied the guest room to accommodate you and your son.”

“But I-“

“Don’t worry about it John, we’ll take care of it. What matters now is that you get some rest. Besides it would do the house staff some good having people actually occupy some of the rooms of the house.”

Mycroft could see the ex soldier was weary and didn’t have the strength to fight.

 Mycroft smiled thinly ignoring the feeling of déjà vu, when Harry shut the door behind him.

Being an uncle came easily, after Mrs. Hudson convinced John to move back to 221B, Mycroft found himself visiting at least twice a week. He of course used the excuse to check in on Hamish and to ensure the new nurse that made home visits was doing her job.

Hamish was a good child, he hardly fussed always genuinely happy to see Mycroft.  “I don’t understand it either Mycroft, he fusses when Harry tries to pick him up but he seems to be comfortable with you.”

“Well the boy has good judgment.” Mycroft lifted the chubby toddler easily onto his lap, the child clapped and gurgled in response. Mycroft tried to remember his own brother at this stage all mess of curls and pudgy awkward movements. Sherlock had only ever wished to be left alone with his puzzles and toys but Hamish, Hamish loved to be held or to sit in his uncles lap. The boy had John’s eyes and Mary’s slightly wavy blond hair.

The boy would tug on Mycroft’s expensive silk tie or drool on the British Government’s cufflink’s.

Mycroft knew he was lost, he could not tell the boy no. The busy government official found he rather enjoyed the outings the two would embark on once Hamish was at an age where he was more verbal and self sufficient.

There was a change in the British Government, he was still as hard and cool as ever when it came to political dealings. However if one looked around his office there were small changes to the decor, a color book and crayons would be found on the antique table. There were a few family like photographs of a boy smiling in various stages of life. John had gifted Mycroft with a silver framed photograph that someone had taken of the older Holmes holding a tiny Hamish. Then it seemed Anthea had managed to smuggle another silver framed photograph of a young boy that had fallen asleep wearing a party hat after a very exciting first birthday. The boy had of course decided to nap while sitting on his uncle’s lap. Mycroft’s face wasn’t shown in the photograph but it was hand resting on the boy’s back.

**_~0~_ **

“Have you had lunch Uncle?” Hamish's bright blue eyes glanced over his uncle with a very Dr. Watson like expression.

“Not yet. I was planning to have a certain young pirate join me for tea.”

Hamish smiled hoping down from his uncle’s lap. “So you should wash up and let Sylvie know we are ready for lunch. Please have Amelia change your plasters. Doctor’s orders were to keep those scrapes clean and you my young pirate have been very busy out in the garden.”

The boy frowned glancing down at his clothes, “oops.” He tried to wipe the grass stains from his knees. “It was the British navy again.” The boy grimaced.

“It’s alright nephew, however those plasters need to be kept clean.” Mycroft ruffled the boy’s blond hair. Mycroft had seen his nephew's accident in real time. The young boy had just learned to ride his bike and Lillith was to take him to the park where he could ride safetly under supervision.

The stupid woman was too busy flirting with Hamish's security detail to take notice that the boy hadnt fasten his helmet to his head, and then the child with a streak of independence decided to pedal off. Hamish lost his balance and fell onto the hard cement. Mycroft was up on his feet calling and heading out the door he had called Lilith and the driver was to take them to the A&E. 

He’d had hired Troy as part as Hamish’s security detail, one couldn’t be too careful when it came to a child's safety. Especially the safety of Mycroft's only nephew.

The nanny Lilith had come highly recommended from the agency. However it seems the young woman was more interested in the men of the security detail than carrying for young Hamish. After Hamish’s accident Mycroft  had the four men left in charge of Hamish’s security and the woman in his office that had hired the nanny all fired.

The fierce protectiveness that Mycroft felt towards Hamish was almost startling, but the British Government couldn't control the knee jerk reaction. The A&E staff had seen the small boy right away, Mycroft dismissed Lilith and had gone himself to the exam room.

Hamish as usual was unaffected, he allowed the doctor to look him over and a nurse cleaned up his scrapes. The head wound looked a lot more serious than it was. However Mycroft wasn't convinced until the doctor had a scan done.

Hamish had a few scrapes nothing serious. It was the excuse of "fell off my bike" and the bruising that brought back memories that Mycroft didn’t like to recall. Those old feelings of helplessness, the way Mycroft had felt when Sherlock had begged him to fix John's situation and the older brother couldn't. Now Mycroft was in a position of power, and there was very little he couldnt fix with the sending of a text or a firm nod.

 

John had insisted these things happen and that it was a bit rash to fire Lilith but Mycroft decided he would personally find a suitable replacement.

Mrs. Hudson’s sister was ill and the landlady was unable to watch Hamish for the four days that John would be attending a medical conference in Cardiff. So Mycroft happily accepted the responsibility of taking care of his nephew.

Besides Hamish loved to have the run of the place, he and Royce’s grandson were often seen running across the lawn or digging up treasure in the garden. (Much to the gardener’s displeasure).

“Oh, uncle there is a man here to see you.” Hamish quickly remembered before he reached the door. “He says he’s not a salesman but he’s dressed like one.”

Mycroft frowned looking from his nephew to the man standing in front of the closed doors of the study. How had he missed that?

“Uncle Myc.” Sherlock unsteadily started forward.  The room was spinning at this point, “It’s been to long. Brother.” He growled “Young Hamish here had so much to tell me.”

“Sher-“ Mycroft paled drastically looking from his surprised nephew to his brother. And then Sherlock collapsed onto the floor to Mycroft’s horror.


	70. Treasure

_**CHAPTER 70. Treasure** _

“You blacked out.” The young blond boy stated with a frown, examining the pale man’s face leaning over the side of the injured man’s bed.

 "Not the first time, or the last I guess." Sherlock sat up his left side hurt and he winced.

“Uncle Myc is worried.” The boy made a face, helping to push pillows under the tall man.

“You are a secret agent aren’t you? Just like James Bond.” Hamish kept his voice low.

“Should you be in here?”

“No, I’m supposed to be napping. However I heard you talking in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?” The boy climbed onto the bed causing Sherlock to wince from the shifting movements.

The younger Holmes realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, someone had tended the wound in his side and properly dressed it.

“Sorry.” The boy grimaced. “Do you want some water? Are you hungry? Sometimes after I’ve been hurt or I get sick. I moved the bin closer to the bed in case.”

“That was thoughtful of you.” Sherlock leaned back into the headboard of the four post bed.

Sherlock glanced around in disgust he was in the guest bedroom, the younger boy was holding a water bottle under his nose.

“Thanks.” Sherlock mumbled taking it gratefully.

“You’re my Uncle.” The boy smiled sitting indian style facing Sherlock, he sat with his knees close to Sherlock’s hips. “I heard you call Uncle Myc brother. So that means you’re my Uncle. Where have you been?” the boy itched the side of his nose.

“On a secret mission.” Sherlock grumbled sarcastically, however the tone was lost on Hamish.

“I knew it! I knew you were a secret agent. I want to be a secret agent.”

“It’s not as exciting as it sounds.”

“What’s your name?”  Hamish asked.

“Sherlock Holmes.”  The injured man replied glancing briefly at the blond four year old whose face lit up.

“That’s impossible you’re dead.” Hamish leaned in and whispered.

“Hardly.” Sherlck tossed the empty bottle of water into the bin near the bed.

“My father told me about you.” Hamish shifted biting his lip, “if you’re not dead does that mean the bad guys aren’t dead either?”

Sherlock frowned he tried to deduce the boy, taking in every detail he may have missed.

“Dad said that you died saving the world from a bad man. And he said you were a geni-“ The boy made a face.

“Genius?” Sherlock corrected and Hamish nodded eagerly.

“That’s it! He said that.”

“What else did he say about me?”

“He said uhmm-“ the young blond tapped a finger to his cheek rolling his eyes back trying to think.

“He said you were the world’s greatest detective even better than Uncle Greg!”

“That’s not a stretch.” Sherlock huffed.

“Hey Uncle Greg is pretty smart. Aunt Molly thinks he’s the smartest man in Scotland Yard.”

“Scotland Yard is an idiot farm.”

Hamish giggled, “I think my dad will be happy to see you.” Hamish fiddled with a small hole in his jeans. “He’s been sad a lot.”

Sherlock glanced over the boy wondering over the observation skills of the four going on five year old. “He doesn’t cry or anything and he doesn’t show it, but I can tell. I think he’ll be happy again when he sees you. Like a birthday present you never thought you’d get. Like a puppy, or something.”

Sherlock sighed. “I’m not so sure.”

“He will be. You’ll see. “ Hamish frowned “The doctor who came here to fix you didn’t do a good job.”

The boy pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, “It’s bleeding see.” He didn’t flinch from the sight of blood, this was interesting.  Sherlock could see the kerchief was a blue cotton one. “Uncle Myc says you never know when you’ll need one. He gave me some to go with my nice clothes.”

Sherlock accepted the kerchief it couldn’t be exactly sanitary but at the chance of not hurting the child’s feelings. He glanced down at the bandages the blood was indeed leaking through.

“Ah, I bet he makes you go to the Opera.”

The boy nodded quickly, “Yeah and it’s boring but dad says it will give me color?”

“Culture.” Sherlock corrected rolling his eyes.

“Yes! Culture!” Hamish smiled “that’s the word. He said it’s good to go do things with Uncle Myc. But it’s not all so bad.” Hamish sighed eying Sherlock’s bandages. “He took me to see a play with Hansel and Gretel we had the perfect seats and after we got to go back stage to meet the actors. It was fun!”

Sherlock grumbled. “He never took me to a play. Just dumb operas.”

“Oh, you can come next time.”

“Boring.”

“Suit yourself.” Hamish shrugged, reminding Sherlock of John so much it made is heart hurt.

“Do you want me to call the doctor? I wish my dad was here. Dad should look at those. He’s really good. Uncle Greg cut himself on broken glass in the kitchen yesterday and Dad fixed it up right over the sink. He didn’t cry.”

“Blood doesn’t bother you?”

Hamish shrugs again, “No, but it doesn’t bother my dad either.” He said proudly.

“Why was there broken glass?”

“We got home and the window was broken, Uncle Greg came over to make sure it wasn’t a robber. Who would want to rob us? Our telly is tiny. We don’t even have an xbox. Dad doesn’t like them.”

Sherlock wiped the sweat accumulating on his forehead, he felt like the flu was coming on. Why indeed. Sherlock suddenly needed to see the police report, broken glass from the kitchen window, sounded like a break in. However Hamish said nothing was stolen. Was it Moran? Did he think Sherlock was still around? Could he be under the impression the consulting detective wasn’t dead.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sherlock whispered leaning over towards the boy, holding back a wince in pain.

Hamish nodded eagerly, “Yeah.”

“I know where there is a treasure buried.”

“Really!”

“Yes, but the pirates who buried it wouldn’t want it going to just anyone.”

“Well me and Tommy aren’t just anyone. Tommy is really good at math and can play the trumpet.”

“Ah, I take it that this Tommy is your first mate?”

Hamish smiled brightly “Yes he is. He’s older but he’s my best friend.”

“Well in that case I can tell you where the map is. Will Tommy be back over?”

“Yes tomorrow, Uncle Myc promised us the museum and he said I can have Tommy come along. Will you be going too?”

 “Museums are boring. But I’ll tell you what, as soon as I get out of here and finish my business I’ll show you were the map is and perhaps you and your first mate can find it.”

“Deal!” Hamish put his hand out and Sherlock shook it.

“Hamish Sigerson Watson!” A woman’s voice called from just down the hall.

“Oh, it’s the British Navy. I better go. I’m supposed to be napping. Goodbye Uncle.” The boy climbed off the bed and headed for the door that connected to Sherlock’s. The consulting detective realized this was the same room he had stayed in when he last visited his father.


	71. Family matters

Mycroft didn’t go back up to visit with his brother while the Doctor looked over the bullet wound. This Doctor was employed by the agency for his discretion, the newer house staff had been sent home, except for Hilda the made that doubled as a nanny when Mycroft couldn’t entertain Hamish. Everyone was trustworthy but the less who knew of Sherlock’s return the better.

Hamish had made his way down stairs shortly after Hilda caught him sneaking from Sherlock’s room. The boy just hated naps and Mycroft didn’t feel like pushing this. He knew that as soon as John found out about Sherlock’s return that it was a very big possibility no-a certainty that the ex soldier would want nothing to do with either of them.

The older Holmes felt a pang over the idea of losing his only nephew, but John would be in the right. For that reason Mycroft decided to allow the boy to skip his nap and Hamish was now laying on his stomach quietly coloring a picture with his crayons. Indeed father would have had a coronary at the idea of a young boy scattering his crayons and markers over the antique oriental carpet.

Hamish happily nibbled on his peanut butter sandwich, Mycroft watched him fondly before his mobile rang.

**_~0~_ **

John blinked past the darkness and the throbbing pain at the back of his skull, he glanced around trying to adjust to the light or lack there of.

Trying to bring his hands up he realized with sinking certainty he was tied to a chair, and locked in some cellar or storage room.

The disorientated doctor tried to recall how he got here, but the last thing he could remember was leaving the hotel to go to lunch. He remembered hailing a taxi and that was all he could recall.

Well this was different, at least he didn’t have a vest of explosives strapped to his chest. He looked down just in case, relieved to find he was correct in this assumption. Still the last time he experienced a situation like this was back in the Moriarty days, in a darkened pool.

“Oh good Doctor Watson you’re awake. I worried I’d hit you too hard.” The unfamiliar voice broke through the silence and the jumble of John’s thoughts.

“Who the bloody hell are you then?” John tried to pull on his wrists without luck.

“Sorry, here, how about a bit of light.” The stranger switched on a light somewhere and the storage room lit up, the dim lighting was to bright for John’s sensitive eyes. “Oh, sorry, you’ll get used to it. The headache isn’t much help I see.”

“No, it’s not but I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, how’s the shoulder it still bother you these days?”

“Not particularly. Listen mate I hate being rude but can we cut the small talk and you tell me what the hell I’m doing here.”

“Don’t you know Doctor? “

John made a face closing his eyes he swallowed back rising bile, his headache was making him want to be sick. “Cut the shit Captain. You know why I’m here. I see you had your brat moved to the country under the protection of big brother Mycroft. Must be nice having friends in such high places. But I have powerful friends too. No worries, we’re going to have a nice little family reunion.”

“What the hell are you going on about?” John blinked past the pain and made out the blurry figure, finally his eyes adjusted to the light and he could see a tall blond man with cold piercing eyes. He wore a pair of green cargo pants and a black t-shirt. John didn’t recognize him. However the amount of hatred and loathing the other man was emitting John could see this stranger knew exactly who he was.

“Come now Doc, it hurts that you can’t recall such a pretty face. Although the last times we bumped into each other you were a bit preoccupied, well the first time you dug out shrapnel from my leg. Nice work by the way you can barely notice my limp and the second I was drugging you and strapping a vest to you. I guess you wouldn’t have noticed me in the rafters but you would have remembered my sniper’s little red dot.”

“You worked for Moriarty? Well, hate to tell you this friend but you’re a little late to the party. The psychopath is dead.”

“Yeah? No shit! He’s dead because Sherlock Holmes your little brother killed mine! He killed James! And now I’m going to finish what James started. I’ll kill everything that has meaning-“

“Are you fucking mad! Moriarty is dead. Dead! There’s no reason for you to do anything. He took my friend from me-“

“No, no no. Stop with the lies! I’m not an idiot Watson! I know! He’s back! He’s been hunting me for the past four years! I had my suspicions but it wasn’t until earlier this week when they were confirmed. You think by having him move out of the flat that everyone's going to believe he's gone? I saw him, hell I took a good chunk out of his side with my 9mm. He’s far from dead! It’s fine. It’s fine!” The taller man started to pace. 

“Listen-Sherlock Holmes is fucking dead. He died, killed himself. Because somehow that twisted fuck Moriarty convinced him to. “

“That’s what he wanted me to think! But all Jim’s hard work everything has crumbled. Crumbled! And I saw him with my own eyes!”

“He’s dead. You broke into my flat just because you thought what? We were hiding him in the closet?” John  clasped his eyes shut.

“Well fine. Say what you want but soon I’ll have you and your precious little Hamish here. We’ll make it a party, he’ll come then. And then I’m going to kill you and your son in front of him. I want him to know what it feels like to watch.”

“Stay away from my son! You lunatic! Sherlock Holmes is dead!” John growled trying to pull his hands free, the strain on his shoulder was louder and more sharp but he ignored it. He had to keep Hamish safe, had to get out of here somehow.

“No, you see James told him he had to kill himself. He was supposed to die, and with his death the cop, the old lady and you were free to go on with your boring pathetic little lives. However he squelched on the deal. Now, it’s time to call in the debt. You, the cop and the little old lady, but first I’ll take pleasure in watching him shatter when I shoot you and your kid.”

“My son has nothing to do with any of this! And you’re wrong Sherlock Holmes is dead! He’s dead you bastard!” The words still stung but John had to get his point across, his friend was gone.

Moriarty’s henchman frowned briefly then a sadness replaced his cold glare, “You poor bastard you really believe that don’t you?”

“It’s the truth, now lets drop all this and-“

“I see, well it’s a good thing I arranged this reunion, seems like he owes both of us.”

John gave up talking to the madman, which was good because the other decided to leave the room without another word he switched off the light leaving John in darkness.

Well maybe if he was lucky Mycroft would think it odd that John hadn’t checked in with Hamish. It’s not like the British Government had any kind of security detail on him well not after Sherlock died. There was really no reason.

Hamish was safe, John knew this. Mycroft would never let anything happen to the boy. The ex soldier knew if he didn’t make it out of this predicament that Hamish would be well cared for. Hell Mycroft had already set up a University fund despite John’s protests.

It was interesting to see Mycroft and Hamish together, John could understand the ease in which Mycroft took with the young boy. The older Holmes had played the role of older brother and father to a very unwilling little brother. Sherlock needed a father and a mother but Mycroft was stretched so thin playing all roles that it ended in resentment between the brothers.

It seemed Hamish was the man’s second chance at making things right. John remembered the good times he’d had at the Holmes estate. Mycroft had tried and in Sherlock’s defense it wasn’t his fault entirely either. Sherlock’s father wasn’t an easy man and he never truly _got_ Sherlock. Mycroft was just a better actor at hiding his eccentricities than Sherlock.

It helped that Hamish loved and adored his uncle. John couldn’t help but wonder if Sherlock had lived how things would have turned out. What kind of uncle would Sherlock make? He smiled knowing that the younger Holmes would no doubt compete for his nephews attention.

Hamish would have loved both Uncles equally the boy got on with everyone. He was a lot like Mary in that way.

Still, John wouldn’t go down without a fight! Obviously this man was off his rocker, Sherlock was dead, John had seen the body. The ex soldier needed to get free and warn Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Had that last part been true? Was that the reason his friend jumped? Well if it was, then John wouldn’t let his friend down, he would make sure they were safe. It was the least he could do, now if he could only get out of this damn chair.

 


	72. Return

Sherlock entered his brother’s study just as the older Holmes was lifting the sleeping child into his arms.

“Brother.” Mycroft stiffened shifting Hamish into a comfortable position; the blond boy automatically wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck and continued to slumber. “I see you have questions. I’ll be back I must put Hamish to sleep, it seems I lost track of time and he’s managed to stay up past his bedtime.”

Sherlock shrugged wincing at the pain the movement caused he ignored Mycroft’s worried glance.

“You should still be in bed resting.”

“Boring.”

Mycroft looked as if he were about to argue but his hands tightened around the sleeping child in his arms.

“We’ll discuss this in a moment.” He stated coolly,

 “He looks like John. I thought for a moment I had seen a ghost.” The younger Holmes frowned.

“He’s a lot like the Doctor.” Mycroft agreed keeping his voice low “He’s surprisingly well behaved.”

Then Sherlock looked away, “Mycroft if Moran is in town-“

“There is no where safer for Hamish but here, as for John I have my men on it.” Mycroft didn’t have to keep his eyes averted from his brother’s, not wishing to give away the fact that John was in fact unaccounted for. The younger Holmes was too busy avoiding the scene in front of him. Mycroft started to leave but paused, “Have you thought about what you will say?”

Sherlock knew to what his brother referred to, and frowned he had thought about it for the past few years. However he wasn’t about to admit that to the British Government.

Mycroft nodded reading his brothers expression or lack there of, “Do you think its wise to come back at all. I can help you start over. Somewhere else perhaps-“

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on his brother, “I’m home and after all this is over brother you and I are finished doing each other favors.” Sherlock growled “Lets not forget who’s at fault for my hiatus. You sent me on this little mission in the first place. I want what we agreed on. My name cleared and my life restored.”

“He wont understand.” Mycroft replied with solemn look on his face, desperation in his voice. Why couldn’t Sherlock see reason?

“No you’re wrong.” Sherlock sighed “He will understand. He just won’t forgive.”

Mycroft’s arms tightened on the sleeping boy in his arms, Hamish’s soft breathing distinct in the uncomfortable silence of the room.

Sherlock could understand his brother’s fears, if John was angry then he wouldn’t see Hamish, and a part of Sherlock felt guilty for it and another part was angry. Angry because this comfortable friendship with John was his! It was the only thing Sherlock had that was truly his.

John was his friend and Mycroft had finally managed to take the last thing he could call his. When he did see John again it wasn’t going to be hugs and tears it would be shouting and cursing.

Sherlock glared at his brother’s retreating form, then his gray eyes flicked over to the peaceful face of Hamish. The boy did care deeply for Mycroft, is that why his brother was so loathed to allow Sherlock to reappear?

Why was this all so confusing it should have been an easy plan, it shouldn’t have taken this long. Sherlock rubbed at the back of his eyes with the palm of his hands. He needed to get out of here, to be clear of the drowning memories that haunted this place and from his brother. He needed to find John according to Mycroft John was at a medical conference in Cardiff it wouldn’t be hard to find out where his friend was staying. John was predictable Sherlock would find him and they could perhaps do this one last thing together.

Or Sherlock would be on his own, either way he was tired of waiting. The younger man flipped open his brother’s laptop and started to hack the system. Sherlock sneered at the photographs on his brother’s desk, causing him to punch the keys on the computer a bit more forcefully than he intended.

**_~0~_ **

DI Lestrade stretched pulling his robe on he smiled down at the sleeping form of Molly. He might as well start the coffee, then a quick shower. Today was his day off and he planned on spending it with his lovely girlfriend.

Entering the kitchen he heard the percolator already going, the scent of the coffee beans was filing the small space.

Frowning he yawned shuffling over to the pot. Had Molly already beat him to it? He smiled to himself pulling two mugs down, well he’d have to show his gratitude in some way.

“Two sugars for me.” Came the baritone voice from behind him causing the DI to drop the mugs in his hands.

“What the-“ Greg placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart, there in his kitchen sitting at the table reading over a case file he’d left out was a ghost. The morning light was already lighting the dim kitchen, and Lestrade couldn’t trust his eyes. He avoided the broken mugs at his feet and switched on the light.

There he was, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, looking thinner than he had ever remembered him. Dark circles bruised the skin around the consulting detectives sharp gray eyes.

“Sher-Sherlock?”

“Greg get dressed we have to find John he’s been kidnapped. “

“But-but-“ Greg hadn’t blinked yet he wrapped his gray robe around him.

“Oh, by the way this is a simple case here. The landlord did it, I would question him and his wife. Now dress we haven’t much time. And I need to see that break in report from John’s flat.”

It hurt to say _John’s flat._ It used to be their flat, but Sherlock pushed the sentiment aside. Moran most definitely had John and he didn’t have time to waste. He had already wasted to much time, too many years.

“Greg who are you-“ Molly entered into the kitchen she’d heard muffled voices and what had sounded like shattering glass. She looked from her pale DI to the man sitting at the table. His hair was blond now she could see the dark roots starting to spring out. The man was wearing his signature dark suit looking pale as a vampire and just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

“You’re back.” She whispered.

“You knew!?” Lestrade turned around causing Molly to wince.

“We don’t have the time Lestrade. Will you help me or not?”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere without an bloody good explanation!”

“I’ll make the coffee.” Molly sighed grabbing the broom near the fridge to sweep up the mess.

Sherlock frowned he stood up straightening his shoulders, grimacing over the pain in his side. “We don’t-“

Before Sherlock could finish his next words the DI was engulfing him in a particularly awkward, painful and very uncomfortable hug.

“Sherlock, bloody Holmes. You absolute nutter! I knew you couldn’t be dead. I fucking knew it!”


	73. ANTS

_**Chapter 73. Ants** _

"They are a special kind of ant." Tommy pointed out holding up his library book "Aunt Hilda said she had them shipped over from a special farm in Canada. Look it says here Queens have a much larger thorax and abdomen and usually colored black. They will be located around a lot of eggs."

"Oh, is that her then the big one. And what's a thor-thor ax?"

"Thorax see look." Tommy held up the book he had received with his ant farm. " I have a queen." Tommy pointed to a place in the small glass window where a very large aunt with wings was buried in her own sandy space. "Try looking with the magnifying glass I got. You can see the eggs. Did you know that ants will defend their home to the death. And they take to defending their young seriously too. It doesn't matter what the threat is, they are quite efficient. All of them work in a community, even the worker ants contribute to safeguarding the nest. When an enemy attacks everyone works together in a unit. "

"Woah! Cool." Hamish carefully tilted the plastic frame and glass not wishing to upset the sandy tunnels that the ants had worked so tirelessly to create.

"This is an awesome present. And it's not even your birthday. Why did Hilda get this for you?"

"She's sad that we're moving the Germany." Tommy was sitting cross legged against the brick wall of the garden.

"What? When?" Hamish looked up from the glass of the ant farm.

"At the end of summer." Tommy winced. "Dad is being stationed there. It's not fair but it's not like I have a choice. We keep moving. Being an army brat sucks." Tommy picked at the grass around him.

"Uncle Myc was going to ask if you wanted to come with us to Porthchapel Beach in Cornwall. We could really pretend to dig for buried treasure there."

Both boys looked crestfallen, "I don't know maybe grandfather can talk to dad and make arrangements. I don't even know German." Tommy flung the book away from him.

Hamish scooted over to his friend, "You'll miss my birthday."

"Sorry." Tommy replied. "If it makes you feel better I'll write everyday."

"I'm not great at reading or writing but I'll write back." Hamish sighed. "Well this sucks. We were going to go to the museum today but Uncle Myc had to work. Today is the worst day ever."

"Don't say that, we still have a map to make. Besides I bet I can come see grandfather over the summer next year. Then we can find our buried treasure."

"Oh! I forgot to tell you about my new uncle! He knows where we can find a real treasure." Hamish snapped his fingers.

"You have a new uncle?"

"Yes! I'll show you come on. He's a secret agent he's staying in the house. You've got to meet him." Hamish was on his feet vibrating with excitement his older friend was quickly gathering his ant farm and book.

Tommy was taller than Hamish because he was older by three years. Tommy never treated Hamish like a baby. They liked the same things, video games and bugs. Tommy was going to be a scientist, and Hamish thought his friend would be the world's best scientist ever. He was going to be Tommy's assistant if he wasn't a secret agent or worked for the yard. Science was fun, there was always something interesting when you added baking soda to water. Tommy had made a volcano explode. They made a mess but Royce hadn't been too angry.

Uncle Sherlock reminded Hamish of Tommy, Tommy was smart and tall.

They made it to the back of the house when the sound of a boom echoed from the distance. "Was that a firework?" Tommy frowned squinting towards the direction of the sound.

"Hey boys. Why don't you come inside."

"Dad?" Tommy glanced at his father who had been talking to Grandpa just near the entrance of the kitchen.

"Come on boys-" Tommy's dad kept his voice friendly but Hamish could see something was wrong. Tommy's dad looked a lot like Tommy. They had the same straight black hair but Tommy's dad kept his hair short. Hamish thought that his friend would be very tall when they grew up.

Tommy's dad was making Hamish nervouse the way his green eyes kept traveling towards the drive way. Another sound like fire crackers but closer had Royce lifting Hamish up and scooting Tommy into the kitchen. He locked the doors and hit something on the wall that Hamish knew to be the alarm.

Several men wearing dark glasses and black suits were entering Sylvie's domain, Hamish didnt see the older cook. He did recognize the men in suits as Uncle Myc's minions.

"Sir there's been a breach in the parameter. It's best we usher the children to the safe room. Until this is cleared up." One of the men, Charles was his name was speaking to Royce in a hurried voice.

"Wait, what about uncles?" Hamish worried looked to Royce.

Royce smiled easily "Nothing to worry about Hamish, Tommy. Follow these men to the secret room. Uncle has gone into the city. This is just another drill. Remember Hamish we've done this before."

The boy nodded "Be brave Hamish. You remember where the room is. Show Tommy." Hamish nodded he heard the sounds of fire crackers coming closer.

Tommy's dad was on the phone and the security men didn't wait they lifted Tommy and Hamish up and carried them towards the room that was hidden in the wall. It was in the library.

Tommy and Hamish were shut in and the two could hear the shouting from behind the metal door painted to look like a wall.

"Tommy?" Tommy neared his friend eyes on the door.

"It's alright, we're safe in here. No one can get in unless they have a code right? Just like in that spy movie we watched."

"What about my uncle and Royce and your dad?" the blond didn't care if his voice trembled. "And Hilda?"

"They know stuff. It's probably just a drill. Besides grandpa and my dad didn't look worried." Tommy placed an arm around his friend, not a hug because babies hugged. Tommy was just putting an arm on Hamish's shoulders.

"Why do you call him grandpa? I mean he's your dad's oldest brother, but you call Royce grandpa." Hamish hadn't really thought about that until now.

"Oh, it's a joke my dad started. Uncle Royce is the oldest and he helped raise my dad and my other uncles. So they call him old man all the time. My dad has always said 'this is your grandfather' I know he's my uncle but I don't have grandparents. Besides uncle Royce stopped minding a while ago. Does the telly work in here? Is that an xbox?"

"Yeah. There's food too." Hamish felt his hands shake when he pointed to the small fridge near the bunk beds. Tommy didn't say anything he only pulled his friend over to sit on the bottom cot, he switched on the telly and chose a game they could both play. He turned the television up to override the sounds of fire crackers, although something in him warned it wasn't fireworks but guns going off. He wasn't going to say that to Hamish, he was the oldest it was his job to be brave like his father,like a soldier.

Then the metal door opened and both boys jumped up frozen in place not knowing what to expect.

**_~0~_ **

"Well Doctor it looks like I'm going to move you. We were going to do this little reunion here but it seems big brother has changed the plans. No worries working with James long enough has taught me one thing. "

"What's that? How to be a better psychopath? Obviously it wasn't how to dress." John's voice was hoarse and dry he'd already earned himself quite the pummeling for a near escape. He was now handcuffed to a metal chair in the middle of the room the wooden one he'd managed to break and therefore loosen the ropes binding his hands.

Unfortunately the Colonel or Moran as he introduced himself hadn't been too far away. John knew two of his ribs were broken and the side of his head throbbed where one of the thugs had hit him with a piece of the broken chair.

Now his little outburst rewarded him with another heavy hit to the face. He spit out blood feeling one of his molars loosen.

"Funny Captain. No. Fail safes and back up plans. I had someone put in place to bring me what I wanted. Mycroft thought he was the target so he's left chasing after little brother. And he's left his one and only nephew all by himself. My men are surrounding the house as we speak, little Hamish should be joining us shortly. Here he thought he wasn't going to go to the museum after all."

"You son of a bitch I'll kill you!" John growled trying desperately to move his arms, his whole body was restrained, his ankles were cuffed as well as hands. Still the anger John felt overruling any logic. Hamish was in danger, this mad man was going to hurt his son. He couldn't allow it, couldn't allow this bit of evil to touch on his only child's life. He'd promised himself, promised Mary he would be a good father.

"Oh, I'm sure you would. Funny thing Captain. You had such a shitty father, mine was no better. Why would you want to reproduce? I myself have no urge to set another Moran out on the world."

John didn't answer he was still straining at the cuffs, his mind racing to figure out something, this couldn't be it for him. How many times had he found himself in such dire situations he'd managed to figure-no. No. That's wrong Sherlock had managed to get them out of these types of things. But Sherlock wasnt here and Mycroft didnt even know John was missing.

Moran's mobile begin to ring he turned his back on his prisoner, John could see the man's shoulders stiffen and the old soldier started to swear into the phone. This caused the Doctor's racing heart to calm, he knew it had to do with Hamish. Knew that he could trust Mycroft, ha. Moran talked about fail safes well obviously he wasn't prepared for Mycroft Holmes. The Colonel was lucky that Sherlock wasn't alive, it were both Holmes then this idiot would have only hours to live.

"What do you mean! It's just a kid! A four year old! Captured? Leave him! That fool can burn let Holmes have him. He doesn't know enough about the plan anyway! Dammit, don't be followed! Just come back, change of plans. I guess we can go with just the Doctor. We'll need to move and now! If you fuck this up it's you I'll have buried alive."

**_~0~_ **

Tommy kicked at the door of the safe room, he kicked and shouted hoping someone would hear him. The man who had opened the door grabbed Hamish and shoved Tommy back in. Hamish had yelled for help and Tommy knew this wasn't part of the drill.

"Thomas!" He heard his father's muffled voice.

"Dad! They grabbed Hamish!" He yelled then the door opened his father was sweaty and out of breath the color of his shirt was wripped. "Dad?"

"Hey, shssssh. Where's Hamish?"

**_~0~_ **

"Troy?" Hamish was trying to squirm out of the security man's hands.

"Shut up you little brat!" Troy growled holding Hamish tighter under his arm, this only made the boy struggle harder.

"Let me go! What are you doing!?"

"Getting paid you little shit! You made me lose my job. Ten years I gave this fucking government and they reward me with babysitting duty."

Hamish could hear the sounds of guns, he knew they had to be guns and they were in the drive way. Troy had shoved Tommy into the safe room and locked him in. Now Hamish was being taken to a car just at the end of the drive. He knew that it wasn't good if he got in. This man was bad he was taking him away from the house.

Hamish didn't care if the hand holding him was hurting, he was going to get away.

"Uncle Myc wont be happy."

"Uncle Myc isn't here is he? He's not as smart as he likes to think. He left just like we thought he would, him and his security team. Left a house full of staff and gardeners. Not much of a defense huh. I've already taken out the small security detail Mycroft had here. "

Hamish tried not to panic, but he worried that the gardener Mr. Plath was hurt. Mr. Plath always yelled at him and Tommy for running through the flower beds but he wasn't a bad man. He showed Tommy were all the best ant hills and worms could be found.

And Tyler and Brody they helped too with the grounds, what if they were hurt by the guns. Sylvie was in the house and she was older than gran maybe. And Royce, and what about Tommy's dad? Or the other security people. He felt tears starting to gather, it was hard to see.

Then an idea came to him "I'm going to throw up." He sobbed.

"I said shut it kid."

"I'm serious." Hamish tried to look convincing Troy dropped him on his stomach but kept a hand behind his.

"Don't you dare get it on me!" He growled, Hamish turned into the man and kicked as hard as he could at Troy's shins. It surprised the man enough he let go but Hamish didn't get far before Troy caught his arm roughly.

"I would stop right there if I were you. Let him go."

It was Royce, Hamish shivered never hearing that tone before.

"No chance old man." Troy had a gun and Hamish stopped struggling, he couldn't help but sob when Troy pointed it at the old butler.

"You made a mistake coming here. You and your men. Should have probably brought more." Royce didn't look scared and Hamish couldn't help but wonder if the butler was crazy.

"I brought enough. And I've got what I came for." Troy gave Hamish a rough shake.

"Can't let you leave with him though." Hamish turned to see Tommy's dad holding a gun to the back of Troy's head. He smiled down at the boy and winked.

"Who the hell-"

"Doesn't matter. Drop the gun you're surrounded and your men have been rounded up."

Hamish winced when his arm was let go, he could still feel the pressure of fingers but Troy had dropped his gun with cold glare. Tommy's dad didn't let the fired security guard talk instead he knocked the man out with a hit to the side of his head.

Hamish was looking at Tommy's dad and grandfather back and forth there were people yelling towards the back of the house. Royce smiled down at a trembling Hamish lifting him easily into his arms.

"You alright?"

Hamish was afraid to talk he just nodded his whole body wouldn't stop shaking. The four year old just held tight to the older butler his arms around the man's neck. "Tommy?"

"He's alright, just worried about you."

"I'm okay." He let a shaky breath out laid his head on the butler's shoulder squeezing his eyes shut.

Royce was on the phone "It's fine here sir, we've got it handled. Yes sir, Agent Plath and his two have secured the road in. Sylvie is a bit upset about the mess made in the kitchen cant say if the carpet in the study may need professional cleaning. He's secure here sir. Yes."

Royce pulled his head back to look at the trembling boy "Hamish, it's Uncle Myc he wishes to speak to you."

Hamish nodded taking the mobile. "Uncle are you alright?"


	74. Familiar Faces

 

Mathew rolled his eyes hearing his Uncle’s lame pick up line.The fifteen year old straightened his uniform and decided to wander around the museum. He would give Mike another thirty minutes before interrupting. The two just finished with ACF drills and were still in their uniforms. Hence why Micheal wanted to come here, he was hoping to meet up with a girl he’d been trying to ask out to a movie for a week now.

Micheal believed, the girl Shelly was her name, wouldn’t be able to say no to a man in uniform. Mathew however had no interest in his uncle’s sad pick up attempts. The two could be twins with the same ginger hair and green eyes, except Matt was at least five inches taller. He’d nearly caught up to his dad at this point. Matt smiled checking his mobile for the time, it was new smartphone that his dad ad mum got for him when he turned fifteen a few weeks ago.

“Move kid you’re holding up the line.” A man gruffly pushed past him nearly knocking him over, the fifteen year old paled and froze.  

The tall blond man wearing a janitor’s uniform scowled at the ginger but continued to cut through the crowd. Matt’s jaw tightened and he forced his feet to move forward and follow the stranger.

He knew the bastard knew him from almost five years ago. Matt had been on his way home from school, when a heavy hand smelling of metal and oil clamped over his mouth and the same gruff voice growled _. “Don’t scream kid or this gets ugly. Now come along if you don’t want us to hurt your sweet mummy and the copper you call dad. Come on, get into the van. Move it kid! You’re holding up the line!”_

Matt had been younger than, and scared. He’d done exactly as the man instructed and to this day had nightmares of being strapped to a vest of explosives. He recalled being left in the dark of a factory, told if he moved he’d be blown to dust.

He never really saw the faces of his abductors but he’d hear their voice, was this the same guy? They never caught the men who took him but they did catch the leader. The one who the papers called Moriarty. Matt kept the clippings in a box under his bed. The young boy had gone to the consulting detective’s funeral and he would always believe what his father did. He believed in Sherlock Holmes no matter what the papers said.

Besides that Doctor Watson had been Mr. Holmes’s best friend and though the papers called him a fool Matt knew the man was far from that. The Kelly’s had taken to boycotting the paper. Even Grams refused to sell the paper in their shop, “Just a bunch of trash, lies and gossip.” she'd had murmured crumpling the paper up and tossing it the garbage.  That first couple of weeks after the detective had passed mum and dad refused to watch telly and advised the boys to play outside instead.

Matt could see the tall blond man was dressed like a janitor but there was something wrong with the uniform. Other than it being wrinkled and almost to short on the stranger. There were stains around the sleeves and this janitor had red knuckles, Matt knew a lot about those kinds of marks on knuckles. It meant that the janitor had been fighting or hitting something maybe someone.

The younger boy watched suspicious as the stranger headed for a set of stairs he hesitated from following. What was he doing? If that was the man he was obviously dangerous. He couldn’t just call his dad and say _“Hey pops remember when I was kidnapped and made to wear explosives. I know I never saw anyone’s faces but hey I heard a voice that sounded like one of the bad guys. Please come arrest him.”_

Yeah, he would definitely sound like a nutter. He took his mobile out wondering if it would hurt to call his dad anyway. Before he could decide the blond stranger with the slight limp emerged from the employee stairwell. He paused when another man approached this man had black hair and wore jeans and blue polo. He was trying to look ordinary he did a good job except Matt being raised around cops knew what a gun looked like under someone’s shirt.

That’s all he needed as proof he glanced around and pulled the fire alarm. This had both men spooked. The blond hurried off into another direction swallowed by a crowd of people. Matt made his way towards the stairwell, curious as to what these two had been up to. He’d only pulled the alarm worried there were explosives in the building now being an idiot he was probably headed right for them.

Still he had to know, what if these bastards had another kid down in the basement somewhere wearing a vest.

**_~0~_ **

“So not dead then?” John growled, leaning his head back in the chair, clasping his eyes shut. John couldn’t stand the throbbing in his temple he was going to be sick if he didn’t get out of here soon.

“No, not dead.” Sherlock grunted trying to work the knots loose around his wrists.

“Why did you come back?” John sighed heavily.

“John, I left to save your life. Yours, Lestrade’s and Mrs. Hudson’s. Moriarty had three snipers aiming right for the three of you, he was going to have you all murdered unless I jumped. He killed himself just because he knew I could get him to call it off.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why did you come back?” John kept his voice unusually steady.

“Moran. He was the last of Moriarty’s generals. In fact he is the last to the web. I came to find him. After he was taken down I had planned to return.”

“And I’m sure Mycroft knew this whole time.” John groaned feeling like an idiot.

“John-“

“Of course he did. Stupid, stupid Watson.” John kept his eyes closed refusing to look across the dim room towards the ghost now tied to a chair. “I take it you came alone?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I left Lestrade to check a useless lead so I could meet up with Moran.”

“Yup exactly what he wanted too. Just play right into his hands genius. So Greg knows.”

“Since this morning.”

“Oh, good. So who else knew?”

“John it’s not relevant. Right now it’s important to focus on getting out of this basement.”

“Relevant! Relevant! We-I mourned you for four years Sherlock. You have no idea what it did to me to see you-“

“John.” Sherlock winced cutting his friend off, “John. I’m sorry but there was no other way.”

“Oh I know. Because you’re Sherlock bloody HOLMES and you’re such A BLOODY GENIUS!” John growled “You don’t need anyone!”

The sound of a fire alarm blaring interrupted whatever rant John was about to continue on. The sound was muffled just outside and John was grateful for that small favor.

Until the door to the basement opened, the sound only antagonized the horrid drumming already taking place at the side of John’s skull.

“Doctor Watson?” A familiar young voice shakily called into the dimly lit room.

John squinted demanding his eyes to focus on the worried young man kneeling in front of him.

“Handcuffs. I don’t suppose you have the keys.” Matt Kelly worriedly stood glancing around the room there had to be something.

“Matt what the hell are you doing here? You need to go before they come back.” The injured doctor tried to keep his voice calm but it came out desperate and breathless. Damn his spinning head.

“I thought I recognized the janitor with the limp. I pulled the fire alarm, I thought they were going to bomb the museum.”

“Matthew Kelly?” Sherlock had remained quiet during John’s interaction with the boy in the ACF uniform. Sherlock hardly recognized the younger man, his memory kept flashing the picture of a young boy clinging to Constable Kelly in the back of some ambulance. This, this wasn’t the same kid, this was a young man , just turned fifteen. He had aspirations of joining the army, hence why he joined the Army Cadet Force. The boy had even received awards for his community service. Deductions flew right off the figure now standing and approaching the consulting detective. Straight A student, athletic and working part time as a dog walker for extra money.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry have we met?” The boy nearly jumped having not noticed the curly haired blond in the cardigan at the other end of the room. In his defense it was darker at that corner.

“I have ropes, do you have a pocket knife?”

“Yes! I do. Birthday present on my twelfth when I joined the ACF compliments of one Doctor John Watson.”

“You still have that?” John managed through the blinding pain in his head. He just wanted to fall asleep.

“Of course sir, never leave home without it.”

“Quickly.” Sherlock hissed. “John. John. Stay awake.”

“I am and stop telling me what to do.” The doctor grumbled. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m angry with you.”

Sherlock was up out of the chair as soon as the rope loosened. “Sir, you’re bleeding. Are you-“

“It’s nothing.” Sherlock cut the boy off.

“It’s best we get out of here before Moran returns. “

“Yes, sir. But what about the Doctor?”

“Give me your pocket knife. Quick and then leave. Call Lestrade tell him John and I are at the museum and so is Moran. Go.”

The boy didn’t hesitate he instinctively responded to the direct order and tone in the stranger's voice.

“Yes, sir. Right away.” The younger boy hurried out the door dialing a number in his mobile.

“You’re bleeding?” John’s voice sounded slurred.

“Nothing, just a bullet. Mycroft had one of his idiot doctors look it over and patch it up.”

“Let me see.” John squinted leaning into his friend.

“Later, first we need to get you out of here and to a hospital.”

“Probably a good idea, I’m starting to see double.” John groaned leaning into his very much not dead friend. “I’m still mad at you. “

“I understand John.”

“No you don’t but its fine. I owe you a punch in the face as soon as I can see straight again.”

“Sounds fair.”

“More than fair. Hamish?”

“Is safe with Mycroft. Moran tried to have some of his men take Hamish from the property. If the dimwit would have done his research he would have known what a bad idea that was. Mycroft’s house staff have military backgrounds and are employed as staff as well as security. The men that tried to force their way on the property were neutralized as for the ones who made it onto the property they too didn’t get far. Young Hamish is safe. Trust my brother to always see to that. Really John haven’t you taught the boy anything? He obviously has bad judgment choosing to idolize such a pompous git.”

“He loves your brother. I dare you to tell him otherwise. Besides Mycroft has had four years to spoil the kid.”

“ More like brainwash." Sherlock snorted.

"Brainwash?" John couldnt help but laugh now, regretting it almost immediately, the action caused his ribs to ache and his head to hammer.

"Yes he was always so much better at the psychological warfare, young Hamish didn’t stand a chance. I however have returned and will be correcting this among other things.”

John leaned into his friend unsteadily, “You will have your work cut out for you. And why is it that whenever you are around I’m the one with the headache?”

The two stepped out into the stairwell expecting to hear the alarm it was only silence that greeted them.


	75. Air

John sat in the hospital room having been poked and prodded he was ready to return to his son. Moran was still out there the sniper was a threat and John hated this waiting around.

John huffed, his friend had used the excuse that John needed privacy to dress as a way to exit quickly. The soldier knew his friend was avoiding the inevitable yelling and lecture that was going to happen, even if John had to sit on the damn bastard. Sherlock Holmes was not getting off easily, of all the bloody schemes he’s pulled this was-well…Brilliant.

Bastard for all his lying and deceit, John understood Sherlock’s reasoning. He didn’t agree with it, but he knew that the idiot had thought he was doing everyone a favor. Damn him, Sherlock should know by now he didn’t have to do things on his own. That’s what friends were for, to carry the burden and offer support. Friends protect each other.

Well Doctor Watson straightened his button up shirt, tucking it in slowly, careful of his broken ribs and various bruises. Well, he wouldn’t let the bastard out of his sight ever again. Of all the ill chosen-John sighed rubbing the back of his head, he did need some tea and he needed his son. He wanted to get the hell out of this blasted hospital.

He glared at the doctor giving him instructions on wound care. John was a doctor he did go to medical school. This didn’t help his temper, no he would need several cups of tea before he could speak politely again.

Anthea had shown her face sometime after the annoyingly condescending doctor had left to bring in discharge papers.

“Doctor Watson.”

“Hamish?” John asked right away, his dark mood forgotten.

“He’s alright sir. Mr. Holmes removed him from the house and he’s been placed with a hand picked security team. He’s in Cornwall. “ John had a flash of the ocean and of a warm summer spent running on a sandy beach.

“Portschapel Beach?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes thought it would be best for Hamish. I’ve made the arrangements for you to join him there. Of course when you’re ready.”

John sighed, same old Mycroft just as bad as his little brother. “I suppose the man is too tied up to deliver this message himself.” John didn’t mean to sound ungrateful but damn that infuriating man and his brother. They weren’t fooling him not one bit. Mycroft Holmes for all his power and smug intelligence was a coward.

Yes, when it came to discussions of feelings and anything involving sentiment these Holmes brothers were chickens. The older Holmes could stare down dictators and corrupt politicians but one angry ex-army doctor ready to give a dressing down and the man retreats.

Anthea kept her face expressionless and continued to read the incoming texts on her blackberry. Sometimes John wondered if she were playing angry birds or Tetres just to avoid answering his questions.

“Mr. Holmes regrets the security breach. Hamish was uninjured and the men responsible have been neutralized. He is dealing with the loose ends personally and will be ready to meet with you as soon as his business is completed.”

“Tell Mr. Holmes I don’t expect his business to take long and to stop avoiding me.” Anthea didn’t reply she only turned on her sharp heels and John quickly added. “Oh, and tell him thank you. For taking care of Hamish.” Anthea looked up from her phone and gave a polite smile.

“Yes, of course.”

John glanced around the room spotting his black jacket, relief and exhaustion started to sink in. Hamish was safe, John smiled to himself, safe and surrounded by Mycroft’s security. Something Sherlock would have found annoying but knowing Hamish he was driving the agents mad with his questions.

His son would find the ordeal exciting and John looked forward to hearing Hamish describe the days events.

John also knew he couldn’t rest easily until Moran was captured and locked away. The psychopath was out for blood and he wanted Sherlock dead by extension Hamish and John. John cursed the drumming in his head, he didn’t understand the mad man’s reasoning. How could anyone pledge such loyalty to Moriarty that even though the sociopath was dead (and he most certainly was), Moran was willing to continue with the plan.

Sherlock wasn’t safe with Moran out there, neither was Hamish or Mycroft. They needed to find the sniper before he had time to disappear.

John needed to focus on one thing at a time, once this was all sorted he could join Hamish at the beach. And John would drag Sherlock with him, the Doctor didn’t care what kind of fight his friend put up. Sherlock Holmes would not be let out of John’s sight that and he looked forward to Hamish getting to know his uncle. Yeah, because Hamish thought of Mycroft as an uncle, speaking of the devil. Mycroft was probably hiding thinking John was so furious about the deception that he’d keep his son from the British Government. These Holmes, seriously always got it wrong when it came to the human heart . They may be experts on the brain but beyond that their logic was muddied and faulty.

John approached the door, he needed air, and Sherlock was still arguing with Lestrade. John would give them their space, Greg was most likely enjoying the return to normal. The DI had taken Sherlock’s fall hard, it wasn’t just the threat his superiors put on his job but the loss of a good friend.

Greg was a good man, he wasn’t so suffocating as Mycroft or involved as John, but he did care for Sherlock. The DI was like the father Sherlock never had or wanted for that matter.

John decided to go up to the roof, Sherlock could text when he was ready, if he still had John’s number that is.

Greg’s voice carried down the hall “-and dammit Sherlock you will not go off on your own! I don’t care what you thought! Next time you bloody will call me!”

John found the stairs and slowly started up, his bruises becoming more and more apparent. The young doctor hadn’t felt so old in his life, these last few years had been hard.

First losing Sherlock then Mary and having to raise Hamish. Well at least he hadn't been alone in that. John pushed the door leading to the rooftop open, the blast of cold air was sobering.

He thought of the days after Sherlock's funeral, how things seemed so dark and no one came around except Mrs. Hudson and Mary. Sweet Mary, she would never know the consulting detective. Thankfully she’d taken John’s word over the paper, Sherlock was a genius he wasn’t a fake.

She’d sat with him in the darkness and made him eat and get out of bed. He thought of all the women he’d introduced Sherlock to, Mary would have been the one to stand the test of scrutiny.

Then she was pregnant and John felt the rug being pulled out from under him. He could read the fear in her eyes that he John Watson would be angry or feel tricked some how.

No, John wasn’t angry at her but he was terrified. What did he know about raising a child, about being a father or a husband. He’d asked Mary to marry him because he was indeed a bit old fashion and he truly loved the woman. She was funny, smart and strong.

Then she died, he’d kissed her that morning and rushed off to the conference. He closed his eyes, trying to pin point anything that could have indicated something was wrong. How cruel was it that he was a doctor and all the ones he loved and held dear he was unable to heal. His sister, Sherlock and Mary. Well Not Sherlock now, no but unlike Sherlock Mary would never be returning.

If Mycroft hadn’t been there, John took another slow breath of cold air leaning against the door he’d just came out of. If Mycroft hadn’t helped him he would have become his father, lost to depression and bitter.

Mycroft. John held back a laugh, telling his friend’s older brother that Mary was pregnant had been awkward and uncomfortable. Not that he was ashamed of Mary, no nothing like that. He loved her it was clear that by the end of the year he would have asked her.

No, it was something else that had John sweating in his checkered shirt and brown cardigan. He hadn’t told Harriet yet, but he was going to send her a text, for some reason he felt he needed to tell Mycroft first. Odd, as it sounded he actually was concerned over what the older Holmes would say.


	76. conversations

John shifted again in the high backed leather chair, Anthea had said Mycroft was in a meeting. John told her he would wait but the waiting was killing him, maybe he should just leave and come back.

Just when he decided on retreat the doors to the room opened and the taller man entered swiftly. John frowned catching the quick analyzing glance from the older Holmes. For a painful moment he was reminded of Sherlock, and just as quickly Mycroft looked away.

“Doctor Watson I haven’t seen you in a while. How are things? I hear you’ve moved out of London. “

John rolled his eyes ignoring the idea that Mycroft didn’t know where John was living now, the British Government might not have a security detail on him but he would still have his way of knowing.

John decided to play along “Yes. I’ve opened a small practice nothing big just a small clinic. “

“Yes. I understand it’s doing quite well. You know doctor I was a bit confused when and I’m sure as was the bank. When you set out to borrow the money when you already had such funds at your disposal.”

“Mycroft I told you and your pushy solicitor. I didn’t want the money. I don’t need the charity.”

“My brother named you soul executor to his estate. He made it clear in his will that you inherit his trust. Tea John?” Mycroft offered the Doctor a cup the man accepted it.

John side stepped the old argument “Mycroft I’m not here about that.”

The older man sat back his hands under his chin in another all too familiar manner. Those gray eyes combed over the doctor’s expression and John could see the wheels of Mycroft’s brain in motion. He was looking for an answer to why John would show up out of the blue in his office and John took pleasure in the fact that Mycroft Holmes was unable to deduce the reason.

Of course he could see John had hurried and dressed carefully but the older Holmes didn’t know why. Sherlock however would have, only because Sherlock knew John’s every facial expression was involved in every aspect of John’s life. He would have known about Mary saying yes before John could blink.

“Is everything alright with Ms. Morstan?”

Ah, he was close and John couldn’t help but smile he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. She’s actually quite well, fantastic really. That’s why I’ve come.”

That put Mycroft off, the man narrowed his eyes and John knew the older Holmes was confused. His mind no doubt whirling in every direction possible.

“I’ve asked Mary to marry me. She’s said yes.”  John straightened up putting his tea on the small table near him.

“Well congradulations doctor-“

“In two weeks the ceremony will be held at a small church. She doesn’t have any family so it will only be a very small gathering of friends and my family of course.”

“Dare I ask what the rush is? I take it this was your idea and not hers.”

“No, we both thought it best before-uh.” John cleared his throat, why was this so difficult? It’s not like Mycroft was his father or his big brother. These things happened all the time and yes couples hardly got married over an unplanned pregnancy in this modern age but John wasn’t most people. And he truly did love Mary and he was going to do this right.

“John?” Mycroft was tense John could read it in the man’s posture.

“Mary is pregnant.” There he said it, Mycroft looked thoughtful now.

“And you’re sure-“

“Yes. It’s mine.” John snapped.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say John.” Mycroft quickly interjected. “I merely feel this is a bit rushed. Are you certain that you wish to marry Miss. Mortson beyond the feeling of obligation to the unborn child. I do understand it is the modern age and these situations-“he cleared his throat uncomfortably “sometimes occur.”

John held back the urge to laugh, Mycroft really looked painfully uncomfortable in chosing his words.

“Yes. Mycroft. I love her. And I had planned on asking at the end of the year when things were a bit more settled at work. However there is no sense in waiting. I only wanted to let you know first before we told anyone else.”

Mycroft nodded “Thank you doctor I’m honored. Now since you are certain, I propose a drink. Scotch.”

Mycroft was on his feet moving to his small minibar he took out the most expensive scotch and poured a generous amount for the good doctor he then handed him a Cuban cigar.

“Congratulations John. I wish you both the best of happiness and of course a healthy child.”

The two men discussed John’s clinic and Mycroft asked subtle questions about John’s plans for the future. Where the two would move, obviously needing more room than Mary’s small flat provided. Mycroft had given John a card of a relator that would be of some use. He then informed the ex army doctor that as a gift he would like to help in the planning of the wedding. Seeing how John was busy with work and Mary had her job and the extra tutoring she did after, their schedule would be tight. It would be a relief to have Mycroft’s highly efficient people take care of the details.

John also knew it was no use to argue with the British Government when he had the _“this isn’t an option John”_ face on.

And John said his quick goodbye after leaving Mycroft to his work hurrying home to let Mary know how his meeting went.

She of course had worried that he thought Mycroft would disapprove of their sudden nuptials, but everything was fine.

“John!” Mary greeted him leaving the bedroom a big smile on her face, she wasn’t showing yet at four months, but John couldn’t help but be drawn to her side his and resting on her flat stomach.

“Your home.” She kissed his forehead, “I had the most exciting day.”

John allowed her to sit him on their small couch, she was wearing a dark blue swing dress with a pink cardigan, her hair pinned back still fell over her small shoulders. John examined her beaming face, “When I was on my way home from the shop, oh don’t give me that look. I’m barely four months a long doctor. You know I’m capable of carrying some milk and bread home. Anyway, an expensive black car pulled up and this lady wearing a black suit skirt and holding a blackberry got out. I was a bit nervous but she said she worked for your friend Mr. Holmes and that I was to go with her.”

John winced “I’ve been kidnapped in similar ways.” But Mary was smiling and not annoyed by the way she’d been picked up. Her small hands took his.

“Well I was a bit nervous but then we arrived at this posh dress shop. You’ll never believe it! The lady introduced me to the sales woman and I spent the next hour trying on dresses. Oh, John they wouldn’t even let me see the prices. Anthea I believe she said her name was, she said it was gift from Mr. Holmes. Oh it’s beautiful! I cant wait for you to see it.”

John kissed his wife to be, her excitement was infectious, sweet Mary.

“Well he also has decided he’ll be taking over the details from here. I know this was supposed to be our wedding but Mycroft Holmes can be rather pushy when he sets his mind to it.”

Mary smiled “John, you are very lucky to have such people in your life. He obviously cares for you. What did he say about the baby? Did you tell him?” She looked nervous, biting her lip.

“I did, after asking if it was something I wanted he congratulated me. And then informed me he would be taking things from there.” John couldn’t help but grin “I almost forgot how pushy these damn Holmes can be. He’s probably already booked the church and banquet hall.”

Mary laughed hugging her husband her head resting on his shoulder “You are a good man John Watson. Only you would make such friends. Our son will be very lucky indeed. Something tells me he shall want for nothing.”

“Boy? How are you certain?”

“I just know.” She smiled “Hamish is what I want to name him.”

“It’s a funny name.” John frowned kissing Mary’s forehead.

“I like it, it’s your middle name.”

“If it’s a girl then what shall we name her?”

“Oh, John it’s a boy. So we wont have to worry.”

It wasn’t long after that Mary passed, the wedding dress had been beautiful and John would never forget that day until the day he died.

When he’d received the call from the hospital there was a car waiting for him at the hotel and Mycroft’s agents were escorting him down through the lobby. He arrived and it was too late, his Mary was gone like a candle’s flickering flame, she was gone. And he had a sick infant that wouldn’t make it through the night. Mary was gone and Hamish would follow.

John hardly remembered the days and weeks, but somehow his son pulled through and he returned with a son to his small home. A home he was supposed to share the rest of his life with Mary in.

When Mycroft showed up some time later John had felt like a zombie, everything was a blur.

Then there stood Mycroft in a hauntingly familiar situation, he had come to take John away from the dark. Just like he had when John was a kid bruised from his father’s angry words and heavy fists.

**_~0~_ **

John pulled away from these memories his head still throbbing, he wished he had accepted the pain meds now.

“Doctor Watson how fitting. Here I thought I’d have to hunt you down but it seems that it’s you who has found me.”

Sebastain Moran was sitting on the ledge of the roof, his 9mm out and pointed at John.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	77. Staying Alive

Sherlock returned to the hospital room to find it empty, John’s doctor was chatting up a nurse when Sherlock approached him.

“Where’s Doctor Watson?” he demanded.

“Oh, he’s not in the room. I don’t know, perhaps he left to go home. Traumatic day and all.” The doctor replied dismissively.

Sherlock scowled at the older man, turning on his heels he ignored Lestrade asking him where he was going.

John didn’t pass them in corridor so he went away from the exit. But where? Sherlock progressed up the hall, stopping near the stairwell, taking a deep breath he texted his friend. Of course he knew John’s number there were countless times he’d dialed it from different places in the world just to hear his friends voice on the voicemail. To many times he was tempted to send the text **_“not dead.”_**

Sherlock pushed the stairwell door and started up the stairs, he’d made this climb almost five years ago, at the top was Moriarty. He almost wouldn’t mind facing the villain over John.

John’s wrath was more cutting, angry and justified. The man hadn’t said anything yet but Sherlock knew it was coming the full blown lecture, and the telling off. The ending of this friendship he’d already failed at so many times.

And Sherlock wouldn’t see John again, or even get to know the miniature version of John. This idea hurt, and Sherlock wondered over the feelings surrounding this outcome. 

Damn Mycroft for having close to five years with the kid, and Sherlock would only have a few hours.The young boy was another version of John, as if this was a glimpse at what John would have been had he a loving family instead of a drunkard father.

Sherlock was grateful that Lestrade was quietly following him, perhaps if Lestrade were there John wouldn’t be too angry. Or it could postpone the inevitable all together.

The sound of gunfire caused both men to freeze at the last flight of stairs.

“Shit!” Lestrade pulled his radio out and drew his own weapon; Sherlock was already bounding up the stairs two at a time.

**_~0~_ **

“If I killed you it would make us even.” Moran was nearing John, the ex army doctor stayed rooted in place, his eyes scanning for an escape he could go back but any movement would be met by expert sniper’s aim.

“It wont, it wont really.” John refused to put his hands up as the man had ordered, he cursed himself for not wearing a gun anymore. Well after Sherlock died he didn’t have a reason to.

“It might make me feel better.” Moran snapped.

“It wont.” John shook his head ignoring the pounding “What are you so angry about Moran? Angry at Sherlock for what? You were there you saw through the scope. You had the balcony seats I was stuck in the bottom row on the ground. All I saw was the end. I read the reports that Moriarty shot himself. Is that true? Did he put the gun to his head and pull that trigger.”

“Shut up.” Moran growled.

“Well? Did he? I feel for you.  You know? I had to watch too. That sense of complete surrealism. Everything was so horribly clear and yet not. The people were faceless, all that mattered was just then at that moment your friend was dying. “

“Shut up!”

John ignored the sniper instead he stepped closer to the man. “And the worst part, the worst fucking part of it all is that they did it to themselves! They put the gun to their mouth. Stepped onto that goddamn ledge and jumped. For what? For what? To win a game? I don’t know about you but I’ve always hated chess. And you and me were just pawns needing to be moved. And we moved because that’s where they wanted us. Am I right?”

Moran took a deep breath “You don’t know how he was. He was brilliant!”

  
“He was a sociopath! Hello! Earth to Moran! Sociopath’s don’t make friends! They don’t care! They don’t care if you were willing to jump in front of a fucking train, or take a bullet for them. They know we will that’s what makes for a good pawn.”

“James was my friend he was like a brother to me.” The sniper growled.

“Yeah, well Sherlock Holmes was the same to me. How long did you know Moriarty? Huh? I knew Sherlock since he was six. And I’ve been pulling him off of garden walls and out of trees for years. This one time I was too late and he jumped. He made me watch. Except Sherlock didn’t die did he? He was willing to stay gone until Moriarty’s little empire was ash.”

Moran didn’t talk and John continued “That’s the difference between a sociopath and a human being. A human being will care whereas a sociopath doesn’t. _He_ knew you were watching.”

John didn’t give the sniper a chance to answer before tackling the larger thug. Both men traded punches; it was somewhat of a fair fight without Moran having back up.

“I can’t let you hurt my family. And I wont.” John grunted bringing his knee up to the snipers side. The gun had been knocked out of Moran’s hand earlier in their struggles, John was aware it was somewhere to his left, after bringing his fist down hard into the Colonels face he quickly spotted just where it was.

Unfortunately Moran did too and grabbed at John’s injured shoulder. The shorter blond let out a cry in alarm and surprise feeling the pressure on the already strained tendons. Both men scrambled for the weapon with the intent of killing the other. Moran had the longer arms and his hand was already gripping the weapon’s hilt before John could even make a grab.

Suddenly the two men were rolling around on the dirty roof top, John held Moran’s wrist trying to aim the weapon away from him.

It was a blur of arms and legs, of hissing and grunting until the loud bang erupted. The ex soldiers went still, John was under the bigger man, eyes wide both soldiers starred at each other.

“You’re just like me.” Moran  wheezing he rolled off of John, of course with a little help from the smaller doctor’s harsh shove.

John just laid there trying to catch his own breath, he was sure another three ribs were broken on top of the old injuries. Head pounding he took in Moran’s words.

“No. I’m not. I’m alive, and I always have been.” And John thought he heard his name, but his headache threatened if he kept fighting the dark he would regret it.

Somehow he felt the cool summers wind brush over his face, and he thought he could hear the rustle of the trees in the park.  For a moment just as John drifted into the dark he thought he was lying in a park near a fence, with a dark haired pirate standing over him.


	78. To Talk and Listen

 

John blinked slowly feeling the world blur together, a pair of very inquisitive gray eyes were staring down at him. Once more John felt an edge of déjà vu, except those eyes weren’t viewing him like he would a specimen under his microscope.

There was a hint of worry and an exhaustion that crept over the familiar insipid face.

“You blacked out.” Came the rough whisper.

The doctor couldn’t stop the grin starting to pull at the edges of his lips, "Not the first time, or the last I guess. You okay? Is Moran-” John tried to sit up, wincing immediately from the sharp pain in his side.

Strong hands were pushing him back onto the pillows. “Of course I'm fine. And Moran is dead. For a minute there I thought. I thought it was your blood soaking the ground but it was him. He didn’t make it off the roof. Anyway he doesn’t matter. You do.”

John allowed his friend to adjust the pillows behind him and offer him something to drink.

John couldn’t believe it,  Moran was dead, the threat was over. And his own friend, John’s best friend was alive. What a dirty, awful, brilliant and a bloody genius trick. And here he was Sherlock Holmes, alive. Alive!

The ex soldier reached out and squeezed his friends forearm, startling the man who was about to leave and fetch a nurse.

“It can wait. Sit.” John nodded towards the chair his friend obviously had been occupying.

“You’ve broken more ribs and have a slight concussion. The idiot doctor my dear brother has employed to take over your care, thinks it best to allow you your rest. I was just here until you-“

“Shut up.” John cut the younger man off. Gray eyes shot away from the one of the monitors and locking onto the doctor’s blue. “You sit.”

Sherlock visibly gulped and then nodded doing as his friend instructed. The now blond detective slowly took his seat grimacing as he plopped down slowly into the uncomfortable chair. John remembered his friends wound, the doctor in him wanted to look it over, he needed to be sure it was taken care of.  John tried to keep a straight face but Sherlock was looking down at his hands like a beaten puppy. It was amusing to see the younger man fidget and try to look anywhere but at John.

“So here’s how this works, I’m getting the hell out of here as soon as one of Mycroft’s minions gets the paperwork rolling. Then I hear we are going to the beach. As in you and I. As in you aren’t going anywhere until that has been properly looked over. I can see it still hurts and if you catch an infection and die I’ll revive you just to kill you myself.”

“John-“

“Shut it. I’m not done.” John growled. “You have a hell of a lot to explain, and I mean a hell of a lot. That and we really need to get that awful color out of your hair. Blond makes you look a bit washed out.”

Sherlock frowned his face still pale he looked slowly up towards his friend. “We’ll figure out what to do. I guess it’s only fair to give you back 221B but I hope you’ll give Hamish and I a week or two to find something else.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yeah. I don’t suppose you want a growing four year old underfoot.”

“Almost five.” Sherlock corrected, his eyes roaming over his friends face. “And I don’t mind the boy. He’s curious and interesting. Not at all dull.”

“Oh? You wouldnt mind living with us? I mean it can get a bit cramped but I haven't touched the things in your room." a smile spread over Sherlock's face.

"He's tolerable. And he does like pirates."

"You’ve met him then?”

“Yes. He’s nothing like you were John. He's much more adventurous. Except there is one thing."

"Oh?" John queried.

"He does have that annoying trait of idolizing Mycroft. We have to put a stop to it. The boy already wants to work for the Government. The GOVERNMENT John. Can you believe it. It’s a ploy my brother knows this would annoy us.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly it.” John laughed hissing in pain immediately after. “Sherlock I missed you, you idiot.”

“John I’m sorry if I make you regret becoming my friend.”

“No, like I said you have a lot of explaining to do. As does Mycroft. The one time you two work together-“ The ex soldier shakes his head.

“John it-“

“I know. I know. It was to protect me. I get it. I don’t like it but I get it. At this point I just want to get out of here and see my son.”

“He really is a surprisingly intelligent boy.”

“Well, he gets it from his mother.” John sighed “And maybe all the time he spends with his uncle Myc. You know he’s better at manipulating the poor man than you ever were.”

Sherlock frowned, “Really? Interesting. I’ll have to test this theory. Perhaps we can make him a double agent of some kind.”

“Oh no you don’t Sherlock Holmes. You will not be teaching my son to pick pocket his uncle and whatever else you have in mind.”

Sherlock put a hand to his chest, pouting as if John had really hurt him. “John, I’m shocked you would think me capable of such things.”

“Sherlock.” John warned.

“I’ll go find the minion that can release you.”

John rolled his eyes, “Speaking of the British Government. Where is your brother?”

“Hiding. Or playing at damage control. You chose.”

“Why would he be hiding? What have you said to him?” John narrowed his blue eyes on his friend.

“I haven’t said a word. You know Mycroft. He thinks you are going to be angry.”

“I am angry.” John frowned, gingerly massaging his temples.

“He thinks you wont want to speak to him again.” Sherlock’s voice lowered and he didn’t want to admit he assumed the same for them both.

“Oh? Oh. I get it. He thinks like you. I swear you two. You would think knowing me this long-you know what never mind. Ugh, I suppose it’s cruel to let him stew any longer. Do you think he’s lurking about? Maybe you can send him in?”

“I think you should allow him to contemplate his sins. This was partly his idea.”

“Sherlock.” John warned.

“But John-“ the consulting detective couldn’t help but whine.

“Send the prat in. And I’m going to need another change of clothes. I suppose the others have Moran’s blood all over them.”

“Fine.” Sherlock grumbled walking out into the hall.

Lestrade entered shortly after. “John. Glad to see you well-alive. For a minute there I thought you were well you know.” Lestrade plopped down into the chair Sherlock vacated.

“I swear these Holmes are going to turn me gray, I mean all the way gray.”

John nodded with a smile “Yeah, well I’m not far behind you.”

“So, not dead then.” Lestrade sighed running a hand over his face. “Cant wait to see Anderson and Donavan’s face when they see him strutting in onto the crime scene. Well that’s if I get one he finds interesting. I m sure nothing is going to be able to top whatever adventures he’s been on without us.”

John nodded and there was an awkward silence between the two men.

“Well then I’ll get going. Molly wanted to pop in and see you but she’s got a body and all. You know Moran-“

Lestrade cleared his throat “Never mind. I hear you’re going on a holiday. We can talk about it later. And I’m sure you’ll be filling me in some.”

John smiled “As soon as I can.”

“Tell the kid Molly and I say hello.”

“I will. “ John looked over at the DI who was making a hasty exit. “Greg.” He called out.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for trying to keep an eye on him.”

“He’s gotten slippery. I’m a bit rusty but after today’s events I think I might put a tracking device on him. Wonder if Mycroft can get us a chip, we can tag his ear. While he’s sleeping. Well anyway. I’m off.”

The DI waved and left John in the room alone, the sounds of beeping machines and the buzz of the monitors to keep him company.


	79. Safe, and sound

Mycroft ignored his brother’s snide comments; Sherlock was as much to blame for the situation.  

“John wishes a word. Stop being a coward and go in. “

“I am not acting a coward brother. As you can see I have quite the mess to clean up.”

“Oh don’t act as if you don’t like it. You’ve always been one to be in control. What’s a few more blood stains to wash off the pavement.”

Mycroft took a deep breath reciting the line of Monarchs to himself in his head before turning to face his brother. The two were standing in the near empty hospital corridor just six doors away from John’s room.

“No thanks to you and your antics that blood isn’t of any one important.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Really Sherlock have these years away taught you nothing?” Mycroft hissed. “You could have been killed, you could have had Lestrade and John killed. What were you thinking heading to that museum to meet Moran?”

“Oh, please Moran is an idiot, he is no Moriarty. I nearly had him.”

“No, no. He had you.” Mycroft snapped, his grey eyes sharp and accusing.

“I didn’t have a choice. Anyway it turned out.” Sherlock shrugged.

“By chance!”

Sherlock hated when his brother was right, and Mycroft was in fact very much correct in this instance. What were the chances that of all people Mathew Kelly happened to recognize one of his kidnappers. The boy wasn’t at all disappointing and truly Sherlock barely recognized the young man.

He would have to thank Mathew for his quick thinking, perhaps Mycroft could pull some strings and have the boy awarded some medal for his public service. Mathew was obviously involved in the ACF, Sherlock scoffed at this, the army cadet force indeed. What a waste of such a talented young man he would be joining the army continuing that route. He glanced at his brother, it would only take one word from the honorable Mycroft Holmes and Mathew Kelly would be accepted into Sandhurst. Knowing Mycroft he was already considering the boy as a government employee.

This caused Sherlock to scowl, although it would be of some use to have at least one intelligent young man working for the Government. Unlike the idiots his brother usually employed, useless halfwits.

As much as Sherlock viewed it a waste of brain power he knew that the boy’s father and John would see joining the Military as something to be proud of.

“I take it those who managed to survive that little would be house invasion were brought in for questioning.”

“Yes, one man did manage to be taken into custody. And I supervised his questioning myself.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow arched, he studied his brother’s face “Did he have anything of importance?”

“Between the screaming yes. And before you ask, no you cannot question him.” Mycroft picked at a piece of imaginary lint on his expensive gray suit.

“And why is that?”

“Unfortunately he had a bit of an accident after the interview process. Unlucky really.” Mycroft sighed his face all but mournful. “He managed to fall out a window.”

“How many times?”

“I lost count.”

“You mean you had him executed.”

“He was one of my employees, someone I fired for lack of attention. He knew full well what would have happened to him if he were captured. I do not take the safety of my family lightly. Especially that of the most vulnerable members. So, like I said he fell out of the window. It was all too easy Sherlock. But the reports read it as an accident. Clever me.” There was a familiar gleam in his brother’s gray eyes. Mycroft’s  words were so much like father’s that the younger Holmes winced.

Mycroft received a text from Royce that Hamish had spoken to his father already and would be settling down for bed. Mycroft had thought of calling the boy again but decided against it, he wasn’t the boy’s father and John would have put the child at ease.

“Yes clever you.” Sherlock mumbled observing his brother through narrowed eyes, before he could say anything else Mycroft’s attention was drawn to his mobile.

Sherlock didn’t recognize the number but judging by Mycroft’s face his brother was familiar with it.

Sherlock caught the tight grin and hesitation in his brother’s expression. “Oh, don’t be an idiot Mycroft answer it. The poor boy most likely wishes to say goodnight to his dear dear uncle Myc.”

He could see his brother was about to ignore the call for some stubborn reason or another so on impulse or just by way of annoying the older Holmes Sherlock snatched the phone from his brother’s hands and answered.

“Hamish my boy.” He greeted. “No it’s Sherlock. Yes, he is right here. No he’s not busy at all. “ Sherlock turned to his brother with a grin “Here you go brother dear it’s young Hamish wishing to bid you goodnight.”

Mycroft glared at his younger brother before snatching his phone from him.

Sherlock could see his brother’s color rise and it was odd seeing his brother’s expression change from aggravated to relaxed. His brother managed to even sound pleasant. Even now as he turned his back so his brother could get the hint that the conversation was private, Sherlock could read so much.

He felt a bit of bitterness that his workaholic brother was so much like father and would must likely never find a woman suitable to make a family. Mycroft Holmes was entirely too busy running the world and keeping his brother out of trouble to try and make his own family. Or perhaps he was like Sherlock and thought himself incapable of being a worthy provider. Sherlock loathed the idea of a wife and child, but the ease, in which Mycroft took up the role as Uncle, he wasn’t so sure that Mycroft felt the same.

“Yes everything is fine. I’m glad you are enjoying the beach house. It is a bit late you should be in bed.” There was a pause “Well it’s perfectly normal to feel nervous Hamish, after today’s events, but I want you to know I’ve personally made sure those bad men will never return. Yes, uncle Locke can be a brilliant. Well your father is right.” Sherlock wondered what the conversation was about Mycroft’s expression became pinched. “Goodnight then young man. I don’t know if I will be joining you on vacation. But your father will be there when you wake up. Yes, we will definitely have to reschedule the museum. I do think the human exhibit will be there. Now remember no sword play in the house.” Mycroft’s exhaustion began to show and he tried to keep his voice low “I love you as well.”

“How touching.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I had no idea how affectionate you were.”

“He’s just a child. Unlike some children he was actually born with a heart.”

Sherlock scoffed, “Sentiment brother it’ll make you soft.” Mycroft didn’t reply he only ran a hand over his face, the exhaustion starting to show through.

“What did John say to you?”

“Oh I’m not divulging. It’s your turn to face the firing squad.” Sherlock glared “Just remember you brought it on yourself.”

Mycroft shook his head and started towards John’s room, like a man going to his death.

The British Government wondered over the words he could say that would sway the good doctor. He knew it to be futile, John had every right to be angry and this time he and Sherlock had crossed a line. No matter the reason, forgiveness would not be in their future.

Mycroft’s only regret was he wouldn’t be able to see Hamish grow up from the curious outgoing boy to a strong, honest man he was well on his way to becoming.

~0~

John leaned back into the pillows of his hospital cot, his head wasn’t drumming so bad but his side did ache. He would definitely need to lounge about for a week or two. Well he’d give it a week and then just move through the pain of it. The ex soldier smiled to himself, perhaps things wouldn’t return to normal immediately. However he couldn’t help but look forward to taking up his role as blogger and assistant once more.

Oh, sure he was still a bit annoyed, alright, truthfully he was furious, but how often did someone return from the dead? That and John Hamish Watson had seen so many of his friends die, too many good people, men and women. And just this once, just this once it wasn’t true. And John would take it, he could embrace the wonderful fact that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t dead.

Ok, so Mycroft , Sherlock and god knows who else lied to him. That was frustrating but he could understand the reasoning behind it. Especially now that he had Hamish, having his son widened John’s perspective. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the people he loved. What would he have done in Sherlock’s place?

A polite cough interrupted these thoughts, and John schooled his expression. Mycroft wasn’t looking at him, instead he was gripping his umbrella, standing shoulders stiff, and his eyes were on the monitors around the doctor.

“Mycroft.”

“John. Perhaps it’s best to let you rest-“

“Nice try. Sit.” John gestured slowly towards the chair his friend had occupied earlier. The ex soldier could see the hesitation in Mycroft’s movements; it was entertaining to see the British Government at a disadvantage for once.

“I heard there was trouble at the estate.” John kept his voice even, he knew Hamish was safe. Especially after the display of anger from Moran over the lost chance at getting his hands on Hamish.

“Yes. Hamish is uninjured, as I’m sure my brother informed you. He is now at Portschapel.”

  


“So, I don’t suppose your brother has informed you of my non-negotiable terms.” Again no reply and the good doctor could only imagine how the brains of these Holmes’ worked. Mycroft was most likely visualizing how this discussion would end.

“Will you be joining us?” Mycroft’s head snapped up again John was rewarded with the look of confusion. These rare moments should be savored but his ribs were aching and head started drumming. “I’ve already told Sherlock he doesn’t have a say. He has a lot of explaining to do and from the looks of him he needs the rest. That I’d feel better if I could take a look at the wound on his side. It’s not that I don’t trust your physicians, it’s I don’t trust he followed any after care directions given to him by said physician. As for you, I do expect you will be filling in the gaps between what your brother tells me.  And when was the last time you ate? Or had a proper eight hours of sleep? Really Mycroft you’re not twenty anymore.”

“John-“ Mycroft frowned.

“Not done talking yet.” The ex soldier cut the older Holmes off. “I know why you did it, I just don’t have to like that you did it. You Holmes I swear always treating me like I’m too slow to keep up. And dammit this time I was. I can’t believe I fell for it. It was a pretty convincing magic trick yeah. I don’t plan on letting him out of my sight for a while now. Lestrade mentioned a tracking chip.”

Mycroft still looked confused John almost reached out to pat his friends shoulder.

“Do you mean to keep him around?” Mycroft leaned back schooling his face into his usual bored politeness.

“Well I can’t let him go off on his own, did you see his hair?”

“Yes, it was rather disturbing. I don’t know why he didn’t try red. Mummy was partial to red hair.”

This had John coughing when he had tried to hold back the laughter, Sherlock as a red head indeed.

“Perhaps I should call a nurse-“  
“No. I’m fine. Just sore.” Then John decided to ask the older Holmes something that was nagging him, since Moran had threatened to end him.

“Mycroft. What would you have told Hamish if Moran succeeded in killing me tonight?”

The look of concern was replaced again by something close to concern.

“I would have told him what was appropriate for his age. Then perhaps when he was a bit older and he wished to know, then I would have let him know the rest. Fortunately this was not the case.”

John continued to observe the older man, always the responsible one, Mycroft was truly under appreciated by his brother. John knew exactly what the older Holmes would have said to the young boy.

He would have told Hamish his father died a hero trying to protect those he loved. Then later he would only repeat the same story, forever untarnished, John would be carried around in Hamish’s thoughts just like that.

“And what would have happened after? I don’t have a will Mycroft. You did have your solicitor come around and drop a mention of it after Mary passed, and I’ve just foolishly put it off.”

“Hamish’s needs would have been met.” Mycroft gripped his umbrella and leaned back in his uncomfortable chair crossing his long legs.

“Meaning he would be awarded to his aunt, the only living relative.” John could curse his idiocy for not making certain his son would be provided for. Harry was sober now but her sobriety was so shaky even after a year. She couldn’t handle a growing boy, especially one like Hamish. Hamish had such a soft heart, and open curiosity. He had an innocence that John and Harry had been robbed of at a young age. She would be lost, and John loved his sister but knew she was unable to provide any kind of emotional support.

“No.” Mycroft shook his head. “I would have to apologize John I know you care for your sister.” Mycroft seemed to try and find the right words to continue. “But I think we would both agree she is incapable to care for a house plant let alone a child.  I would have given her incentive to not fight my guardianship. “

“Meaning, you would have first offered her money then blackmail.”

“John, blackmail? No. You see. Upon your death there would have been all appropriate paperwork surfacing declaring in your will that I was to be awarded guardianship of my nephew. I would not make my father’s mistakes John. I would have brought him under my care immediately without hesitation.”

“Leave it to the British Government to always find a way.”

“Come now John. It hurts me that you would think I would allow a future employee of the governments to be raised by a real estate agent. The scandal.”

John nodded, “I’m sure you would have him go to a nice school.”  


“The best.” Mycroft corrected.

“I had some good times with Sherlock being away at school.”

“Well I think after Sherlock that school stopped boarding. So Hamish would be home every day from school.”

John took a deep breath holding back the laugh, he remembered Sherlock’s shenanigans and failed experiments.

“You’ve put thought into it.” John managed exhaling slowly and rather uncomfortably.

Mycroft was about to answer but Sherlock cut his brother off “Most likely he’s been plotting this the second he heard that you were to become a father. I told you John he cant be trusted, the government hardly ever is to be. Now, I’ve procured your release. We should get going, our car is ready.”

Mycroft stood up “I’ll join you there shortly I do have a days worth of paperwork to tie up and-“

“And, you’ll be joining us Mycroft. I don’t expect you to ride in the car with your brother already in a petulant mood but I do expect you’ll be behind us.”

“Don’t argue Mycroft. I’ve learned from experience it only makes him more stubborn.”

Mycroft nodded and left the two behind, the British Government didn’t allow himself to grin until he was outside of the hospital room. Glancing back he could see a dark haired young boy in Sherlock’s place leaning over a younger version of John with a cast on his arm. Sherlock with a look of concern and John a tight expression of exasperation.

Mycroft had meant what he said about John’s son. He would never have left the boy to that wreck of a girl Harriette. He would always see her as the uncaring harpy in a miniskirt and tank top.

The first time that Hamish Siggerson Watson had teetered over to Mycroft the boy had been wearing a blue birthday crown looking vulnerable and rubbing his eyes.

Mycroft recalled how easily he lifted the boy onto his lap. And without hesitation the toddler had leaned into his uncle  and to Mycroft’s wonderment the child had fallen asleep instantly.

It was that moment when the child had fallen asleep that Mycroft had realized just how vulnerable John's son trully was. He knew John would always do his best, (and was doing a wonderful job to raise the boy) but if John were in an accident or fell ill, what would become of the child? Sherlock had become despondent due to lack of parental guidance and care. Would that be Hamish's fate?

Mycroft knew himself incapable of sentiment and was never one to show much affection or any at all. He did however know his position allowed him an advantage when it came to security. He might have his father's distorted lack of emotion but he was capable of keeping those close to him safe. Hamish with his trusting blue eyes and reaching hands would be protected and his innocence preserved. That's what family did, they were in theory supposed to protect each other. 

That’s why he hadn’t felt particularly guilty about the treatment and handling of those responsible for invading his home. For daring to manhandle his nephew, sure Hamish had been fine and reassured Mycroft he was unhurt, but the brute’s had in fact left a bruise on the boys arms.

That was enough for Mycroft to consent to murder, a message had to be sent and he believed it had been. The older Holmes understood his father a little more these days, of course he would never truly forgive the man but he could understand him. 

 

 

 

 


	80. Buried Treasure

Sherlock stood off to the side glancing up at the garden wall behind him briefly fighting the urge to climb the stone and watch the goings on of the party.

“Don’t even think about it.” His friend John was at his side holding out a cup of punch. Sherlock reluctantly accepted, making a face but not wishing to argue. He was still very much in the black with John, and the doctor no doubt was enjoying his friend’s compliance.

“I have no idea as to what you were referring to.” Sherlock sipped the fruity foulness of the cups contents.

“Who invited her?” Sherlock growled glaring across at the gray haired older woman with the horn rimmed glasses.

“You mean Doctor Bales? What have you against her? She’s been nothing but civil to you.” John shook his head, “You hardly know the woman, you’ve met her a handful of times. I like her. I’ve worked with here these last few years and she’s-“

“The devil? Evil? A horrible soulless-“

“Sherlock!” John cut his friend off.

“Besides Hamish likes her, he invited her. She’s the one that took care of Hamish when he fell off his bike. She had him all cleaned up by the time I got there. “ John paused for a moment as if trying to recall something.

Doctor Bales had been the one to see to Hamish’s cuts and scrapes but she’d been quick to leave when John had arrived. He thought at first Mycroft had said something to upset her or make the older doctor nervous but she had a sad look in her eyes.

John had wanted to see if she was alright but was too preoccupied at the time with his son who of course took the whole thing as an adventure. Something about the situation had brought up a bit of déjà vu but John had easily pushed it aside. However the way his friend was scowling he wondered if he once again was missing something.

“Ah, leave it to Hamish to befriend and pity the-“

“There he is. My baby brother and his undead boyfriend.” Harry Watson’s voice cut Sherlock’s rant short. One sniff and Sherlock knew right away that Harry had started the party early. Some things it seemed would never change, the taller man quickly made eye contact with his brother who was holding the birthday boy in his arms.

Sherlock found it interesting that his brother didn’t mind lifting the short blond boy up. Not that Hamish was heavy, no far from it. He was surprisingly light and Sherlock wondered if a growing boy should eat more. He had checked Hamish’s height and weight against the national average although he was a bit short for his age his height and weight were fine by that standard.

It was terrifying how easy it was to lose such a small thing as Hamish in crowd. An experience that Sherlock did not wish to repeat, it had been but a brief couple of seconds at the beach while wandering from shop to shop and he’d looked down to find Hamish wasn’t standing next to him. He dreaded the idea of what John would think, and why didn’t they have a sub-dermal tracker on the boy. Then before panic truly struck the consulting detective, John’s son popped up. The short blond was standing by a man that pushed a trolley full of cold beverages.

Sherlock had lifted the boy up afraid to admit he had been worried, instead he allowed the child to sit on his shoulder while they cut there way through the crowd practicing at deductions.

Perhaps this is why Mycroft always held the boy, was he worried he’d lose sight of him. Their own father had never held them, hell they were lucky he even spoke to them. Even that was usually the man being cross about something or other.

Harry was swaying and John looked around worriedly, an attempt to keep his son from experiencing the humiliation of a drunken aunt. However he needn’t worry from the shared glance that the two Holmes brothers had, help was on the way.

“Miss. Watson.” Anthea smiled politely, though it never reached her eyes. The brunette looped her arm into the shorter blonds. “So nice to see you once more.”

“Oh great it’s you.” Harry growled, John didn’t get to say anything before the dark haired PA had Harry safely whisked away from the party handing her over to two men dressed as British naval officers right out of the 1700’s with their blue jackets and gold buttons.

Doctor Bales happened to be on her way to greet John when the blond stopped suddenly eyes narrowed. “You haven’t aged well.” The blond snapped irritably.

“Miss Watson I see your tongue is as sharp as ever. Your father would be so proud.” Doctor Bales hadn’t meant to say it, but the sudden palling of the younger woman and wince from those words were enough to shut the drunk up.

John had wanted to apologize for his sister’s rude remark but when he realized Harry had never met Doctor Bales he frowned. Then catching the Doctor’s quick reply had John at a loss for words. When had the two women met? And why couldn’t he think of a time or recall such an event? Both were after all very strong willed ladies, it would have been an explosive event. Then again the doctor had known just where to hit with her rebuff.

“Doctor Bales.” Mycroft started over taking in the exchange, Hamish was already running across the lawn towards the giant inflatable pirate ship, the children inside where jumping around and laughing. “So glad you could make it. There is punch and a place for your gift at the table just over there. Let me escort you.”

Mycroft didn’t allow the woman to object and Sherlock was already pulling John towards the punch table. “I need more punch and so do you.”

“Sherlock?” John forgot what he was going to ask instead he took the paper cup forced into his hands by his odd behaving friend.

“John. Look we better get to the dessert table before Mycroft.”

“Sherlock. That’s not funny.” John shook his head.

“I wasn’t joking John. I never joke when it comes to pies and Mycroft.”

“Sherlock.” John warned.

“Doctor Watson!” a young dark haired boy came running up to the doctor and his friend. Sherlock wondered who the child was; he was too old to be in Hamish’s class, although the boy did make a variety of friends. He was much like John in that aspect, it didn’t matter the age or grade Hamish got along with anybody.

How old was this boy? He was tall and he did look familiar, where had Sherlock seen the boy before?

“Ian! You my boy are getting taller and taller.”

“Yeah? I hope so. I have to catch up to Matty. Mum brought pies. I told her that Mycroft was loaded enough to take care of-“

“Oi!” A tall red headed young man dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans smacked his brother on the back of the head. “Manners. Swear if mum heard you taking like that.”

“Oh. Sorry. Its true.” Ian ducked his head and jumped out of his brother’s reach. He stuck his tongue out, “Anyway Doctor Watson have you seen Hamish I wanted to see his costume he was really excited about it.”

“He headed off in the direction of the pirate ship.” John motioned towards the giant inflatable ship.

“Thanks!” Ian was rushing off without another word.

“Sorry about that.” Matt shook his head then he offered a polite smile towards Sherlock “It’s good to see you again  Mr. Holmes. Dad said you’re back to putting criminals away.” 

Sherlock took the offered hand, “Oh sorry.” The young man? Boy? Blushed, stiffening his shoulders “You probably don’t remember me.  Uh, we’ve met before and then just a few months back-“

“Of course Mathew Kelly. I never forget a face. Although I do remember you being shorter.” This had the red haired teen laughing.

“Well if it helps I remember you being taller. “

“Yes. Mathew I never did get to thank you properly. Saved my life.”

“Yeah, mum grounded me for two weeks but dad brought it down a week.“

“Well not that I encourage reckless behavior we would like to thank you. Right Sherlock?”

The taller man smiled warmly “Yes. Indeed. I am in your debt.”

Mathew ducked his head now, his face burning red, “Just returning the favor.”

Sherlock frowned briefly before placing an arm around the teen’s shoulders. “You must clear something up for me Mr. Kelly.” Sherlock started to lead the younger man towards the dessert table John just shook his head knowing what Sherlock was going to ask. He could already hear the start of the first question.

“How did you know it was Moran? What was it that made you suspicious?”

John could see Lestrade and Molly sitting at a round table made to look like a pub’s table. Really Mycroft had hired the best party planner everything looked authentic well except for the paper plates and cups. John had stepped in there, thinking it a waste of money and insisted on the recycled ones not wishing anything to broken and something more for Mycroft to pay for. He had agreed to a small get together but should have realized it would be anything but.

He stood happily watching children running back and forth, the jugglers dressed as gypsy’s and highwaymen. There was a sword fight between the Royal Navy and a pirate.

John wondered briefly if the older Mr. Holmes was rolling over in his grave. He glanced up at the window to the man’s study. Sighing he decided to take a seat with Lestrade and Molly seeing how constable Clarke and his wife had taken a seat at the table. Mrs. Clarke was smiling holding the newest addition to their family wrapped in a pink blanket.

Two young pirates caught John’s eye, the two boys shot away from the crowd he smiled realizing that Hamish and Tommy were probably on their way to find a treasure. John shook his head; he pretended to not have seen Sherlock give Hamish the old folded map that Captain Sigerson and his first mate had made years ago to bury their greatest of their treasures.

John knew what the old trunk contained; he could only imagine Hamish and Tommy’s reaction to the contents.

**_~0~_ **

 “The map says here.” Tommy was pointing to the tree at the edge of the garden; the two boys could hear the music playing and the laughter from the jumping castle just at the opposite end of the property.

“There’s a bush.“ Hamish pointed out doubtful and Tommy glanced back at the map. “Well look at the wall behind the shrub.” Tommy smiled kneeling down “There’s an X” he removed his pirate hat and eye patch Hamish did the same removing his gray jacket and rolled the sleeves of his red ‘slops’ uniform shirt up. He glanced at his first mate that did the same.

The two boys set to work digging behind the shrubs it didn’t take long to find what they had been digging for and there just like the map said was a trunk filled with forgotten wealth.

Things that only those who buried it and maybe someone just as worthy would find to be treasure.

Tommy found two wooden swords, an old silk tie with burned edges placed in a glass jar, marked _experiment number 62_. There were other things, a model airplane and remote control. Several books well loved by the owners, Treasure Island was sitting on the very top. There was candy dish with peppermints still in it. Hamish frowned thinking it looked like the same one that sat in uncle Mycroft’s office and uncle Myc did love peppermints.

“Woah! Look!” Tommy had found a jar with a perfectly preserved frog skeleton. He gently held it up for his friend to see.

“There’s a lot of co-cool stuff in here!” Tommy’s stutter was only noticeable when he was excited. Hamish knew that was part of the reason that Tommy hardly spoke around other people. He didn’t care, Tommy was smart and fun to be around. And anyone that could play the trumpet was marked awesome in Hamish’s book.

“Right, we cant risk bringing it out now. Better wait for the crowd to die down. Let’s rebury and return later after the party.”

“Aye Captain.” Tommy saluted gently placing the treasures back in the chest. “Do you think the plane will still work?” The younger boy looked at the plane hungrily, before lifting a piece of what looked like an old cast. There was a pirate ship drawn on the broken piece, Hamish could make out a shark floating the waters.

“Maybe, but if not I think I know just the man who can fix it. “

“Ah.” Tommy nodded smiling “Yes. Discretion is the thing. I trust he knows this?”

“Of course my dear Thomas. Of course.” Hamish grinned they were always playing at being pirates it’s just this time it felt a bit more real with a map and a treasure.

After the party Tommy had stayed the night, and John checked in on the two boys, they were reading over a book that John recognized instantly.

“Not too late boys.”

“Yes dad.”  
“Yes, sir.” The two replied without looking up. John could hear Tommy reading to Hamish and it didn’t escape him that Sherlock had given Hamish his old room.


	81. Things We Do not Delete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections on the past and present.

John made his way down towards the kitchen of the old big house, he could do for some tea and then he would be off to bed. Today had been a long exciting day and he wasn’t ten anymore, he felt his age in his aching bones.

“Ah, Doctor Watson you’re still up. Tea?” John smiled gratefully seeing Royce and his son siting at the small table in the corner.

“I can get it. Didn’t mean to interrupt. I did check in on our boys though Tyler. They seem to be settling in. Should be asleep by two am.” John grinned moving to the heated kettle.

“Yes. I’m glad I didn’t have to move to Germany after all. It was fortunate to find a job working security in London.”

John nodded knowing exactly who arranged that, he turned back around to the two men who could be brothers instead of father and son. He remembered something that Hamish had said, he said Tommy’s grandfather wasn’t really his grandfather he was an uncle.

John shrugged it seemed that he wasn’t the only one in the world who made his own family .

“Ever played poker Captain?” Tyler asked shuffling the cards.

John smiled that was right Tyler was an old soldier just like John, as was Royce for that matter.

“We’ll I’ve been known to win a few hands now and again. In my army days. We played between shifts.”

Royce gestured for John to join them and the ex army captain agreed happily, “Maybe a few hands before bed.”

**_~0~_ **

Sherlock smiled brightly at his received text, it seemed his late birthday gift to his nephew would be delivered just as soon as they returned to baker street on Sunday. It was a perfect surprise one that Hamish wouldn't see coming at all.

The English bulldog pups were ready and Sherlock had chosen a rather healthy male. He wondered what Hamish would name the dog. Hopefully nothing plain or dull like Rover or Spot, no Hamish was to clever a boy to come up with something dull. 

The younger Holmes glanced once more at his mobile before plopping down in a chair near the fire place, his father’s empty study felt warmer tonight.

He glanced into the dancing flames, his brother entered pouring himself a scotch he offered a tumbler to Sherlock who accepted without a word.

The two men sat in opposite chairs glancing into the flames, neither wishing to break the silence.

If Sherlock could look into his brother’s mind he would see past the piles of work waiting for approval back at the office. Instead he would only see the replay of today. The way Hamish had cheered when the fire breathers did a demonstration with the jugglers. The young boy’s polite thank yous for each gift he unwrapped.

Mycroft had given his nephew the birthday party his little brother would have loved at that age. Except father hadn’t the time and mother was too sick. Even if father wasn’t busy and mother hadn’t been ill, Sherlock would never receive such a day. Father wasn’t a believer in such juvenile celebrations like birthdays or Christmas.

The older Holmes sat in his father’s study in his father's chair completely content, accepting the fact that he enjoyed himself today. This celebration was something father may have looked down on, but Mycroft hoped to see many more days like today in the years to come. Perhaps he should check into John’s Christmas plans, it would be interesting to see the estate decorated and brought to life once more. They could throw a small get together of course, with Mrs. Hudson helping Sylvie with dinner, and a large Christmas tree decorating the front hall. Maybe a tree in the larger sitting room, perhaps he would ask John’s permission and get Hamish a puppy for Christmas.

The idea of gifts under a tree, maybe even one marked with Sherlock’s name brought a grin to the British Government’s face. It seemed in his old age he was getting nostalgic and sentimental but bloody hell he deserved it. This was his family, even if it had taken five years to realize it.

He briefly considered his life and his brother’s the choices that brought the two to this point. He recalled the first impression he had of John Watson how very wrong he had been about John. Even his father had thought Sherlock would have driven the boy mad after a few weeks at the very most by the end of summer but here they were all these years later. It was never John having to prove his worth to the Holmes family but it was in fact the other way around.

**_~0~_ **

Sherlock entered the room of his mind palace pushing open the door that was labeled John. There were so many things in that room the consulting detective found himself reorganizing and expanding it. John was in his usual arm chair dressed in his comfortable brown jumper, his lap top open on his knees and a cup of warm tea steaming on the end table near his chair. The fire was warm and welcoming here, as always this room was a refuge. Sherlock had tried to stay out of this room during his hiatus, but it was on the days were sleep pushed into him and exhaustion overwhelmed him that some of the darker things came out of this room.

However since he’d been back he found himself returning without any trouble even the dark things in the locked closet stayed behind the metal door in the corner. Sherlock wished he could delete those things but he knew anything pertaining to John was impossible to delete. He glanced over at the blue door just to his right.

Sherlock had made an adjoining room to John’s the blue door was decorated with Hamish’s favorite rugby team’s poster and inside was everything Sherlock had cataloged as Hamish. It wasn’t quite as big as John’s but he knew from experience it would expand and grow. These were the things that Sherlock kept close, these memories he marked in bright red letters as DO NOT DELETE.

 

~Finis~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you very much for reading and following this story to the very end.


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